


Play That Song

by kapplebougher



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: And also lowkey a prodigy?, Angst? Never heard of her, Fluff, Isak is the musically cultured one in this fic, Isak teaches Even to play, M/M, More Fluff, More Pining, Mutual Pining, Pianist!Isak, Prepare yourself for unnecessarily grandiose descriptions of music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-02 15:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kapplebougher/pseuds/kapplebougher
Summary: Every day, Even catches a boy in a snapback who sneaks in to play the piano at the summer camp Even works at. Even's never seen him before. But if the boy's good looks hadn't already captivated him, then his phenomenal piano-playing ability certainly has. Even doesn't know much about love at first sight, but he thinks that this is pretty close.(Or, seven weeks of music, flirting, summer camp, and falling in love.)





	1. ♫ Week 1 ♫

**Author's Note:**

> (Title inspired from [the song by Train with the same name!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_z4ZZWNZB0))
> 
> hi! so, funny story  
> this fic was supposed to be a oneshot, but I have no self control and now it's like 40k rip  
> Because it's so long I'm posting it in parts, but since it was meant to be a oneshot and all I have to do is editing I'll probably be uploading multiple parts everyday. Hope you like it <3
> 
> NOTE:  
> This fic admittedly has...a LOT of music talk in it, and you'll see it when you get to it - but every song played in this fic was inspired from real pieces and will be linked within the fic, too! Somehow this fic became a self-insert to allow me to write a lot about music that I find really cool, and I accidentally let myself get carried away with writing about them, so sorry about that rip  
> If you can, have a listen at them while you read! I think it'll really help get the feel of that scene? And if listening while reading isn't your thing that's cool! You can always listen to them later if you would rather <3

**♪ TUESDAY ♪**

Even breathed a sigh of relief as he threw the last prop into the giant bucket. For what it was worth (and what he was getting paid), his job was far from being a burden. In fact, he actually even enjoyed it. But that didn’t mean that it wasn’t the most exhausting type of work he’d had since KB. He wanted nothing more right now than to grab some food, head home, and just take a nap.

“Hey, you finished for the day?”

Even turned to the source of the voice and found Sonja leaning against the door frame. He shot her a smile and leaned back against one of the desks. “Yeah, mostly.”

Sonja laughed at the weariness in his smile. “Long day?” 

Even shrugged. “Better than yesterday. Now that they’re all getting used to using the cameras and equipment, they’re a lot less distracted. I’m just worried for when it comes to having to teach them the editing software.”

She hummed in sympathy and was starting to say something else when her phone started to buzz. Shooting him an apologetic smile, she lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello? I—no, no, their parents have to be registered to sign them out—Ruben? No, his glucose meter is in the…”

As Even waited for her to finish the call, he couldn’t help but notice how much older she looked now, speaking orders into her phone. Not necessarily age-wise, but just…more mature. It was disconcerting and a little daunting, especially because he’d just seen her as Sonja, his best friend (and for a long time, girlfriend) since he was twelve years old. But now, she was Sonja, the Executive Program Director of the Summer Artistic Youth Outreach program. She dressed more professionally now too, having traded her usual tank top and jean-shorts ensemble for ironed cardigans and long black dress pants. It made Even feel underdressed in his zip-up hoodie and jeans, even though he knew that as an instructor he wasn’t really under any strict dress code, so as long as he wore the black T-shirt with the program insignia on it.

“Hey,” Sonja said, now looking a little harried. “I have to run, there’s an issue with a diabetic kid and his blood sugar levels—I’m really sorry and I know you’re tired, but if you’re on your way out, could you do me a massive favor?”

“Of course.”

“There’s a registration and schedule packet that I had, and I think I left it in the auditorium, towards the back rows? Do you mind picking it up and just dropping it off by the front desk on your way out? Elise needs that packet for reference when the parents start coming to sign them out, which is soon.”

“Got it.” Even nodded.

Sonja hesitated. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I know it’s been a long day and that you’re off the clock, I swear I’ll be more organized tomorrow, I only asked because the auditorium is so far away and I need to check on this issue with Ruben but if it’s too much trouble, I can ask someone else to it…?”

“Sonja,” Even gave her an exasperated smile. “Go, relax, I’ve got you. It’s just picking up a packet, anyway. And the auditorium is on the way out, it’s fine.”

“Thanks.” She flashed a grateful smile and was gone.

Even shook his head as he grabbed his keys and his phone to lock up his classroom and head out. To be honest, he wasn’t even in a place to be denying favors for Sonja. Even after all they’d been through, somehow it always ended up with him indebted to her in some way or form.

When Sonja had first pitched the proposal for the SAYO program to the university, it hadn’t even originally had film as a sect of its program division. Initially the program was set to only have art, music, writing, and theater as its focuses. And the university had been so enthusiastic about having a summer program led by university students to get the younger generation more interested in the fine arts that they’d offered to fund nearly the entire thing.

And then four months ago, Sonja had found out that Even had been looking for a job over the summer to help him pay for his film school tuition, and just like that, with no hesitation—she’d offered him a position as an instructor for the film sector of the program. Maybe she’d only done it because she had felt guilty about how things had been between them. They had just broken up a few weeks prior, and things had been awkward. Even knew that it wasn’t really fair of him to take advantage of her ex-girlfriend-guilt-kindness, but he _had_ really needed a job, and Sonja was offering it to him on a silver platter. He couldn’t reject her offer, especially considering the fact that she’d had to fight for film to even be offered as a sector of the program, since it wasn’t part of the initial program proposal and also because the university hadn’t been keen on paying for fifteen new starter cinema cameras for the kids to practice with.

And when it came to summer jobs, this one was almost as good as it got. Even liked kids, and he liked making movies. Teaching kids to make movies was fun. Sure, it wasn’t exactly the best thing for his stamina, because keeping an eye on and teaching fifteen ten year-olds at once came with a lot of multi-tasking that he didn’t realize he was capable of. It also wasn’t very good for his nerves and stress levels, especially with every minor heart attack that came with every time a kid almost dropped their camera.

But all in all, the experience was a good one. The hours were great. Film and art were what the kids circulated through in the morning; music and theater were reserved for after lunch. This meant that Even’s work was more or less done around two in the afternoon, which was two hours earlier than what the music, art, and theater instructors were allowed to leave.

But Even’s favorite part of the job was teaching the kids that films weren’t just black and white. He got to teach them about the _purpose_ of a film; he got to teach them about telling a story and to watch their lighting in their shots. He got to teach them that props could be props but that they could also metaphors or symbols; show them that using a certain color could draw certain emotions from the viewer—but most of all, he loved to tell them that they were the sole directors of their own movies, and that they got to choose what happened in it and what didn’t. No one else, but them. He was only there to help them get there.

Teaching the kids was almost like falling in love with filmmaking again.

And with a job as wonderful as that, when it came to Sonja asking him to do small favors like these, Even knew he wasn’t really in a position to deny her. Maybe things had fallen apart between them at the end of their relationship, but Even knew that she still cared about him and would do anything to help him, just as she’d always done. She only deserved the same in return.

He opened the door and stepped into the auditorium. The door fell shut behind him as he blinked the spots in his eyes away, trying to adjust to the rapid reduction of light. The only lights that were on in the place were the luminescent stage lights at the front. Before Even could even see it, he could hear the drifting random tones of multiple pianos over the laughter and shouts of children.

The source of the noise happened to be the stage itself, where there were multiple electric keyboards positioned in a U-shape on the stage, a large grand piano placed in between the ends. Kids were strewn about each of the electric keyboards in twos and threes, laughing and talking loudly as they played away. The kids had music and theater after lunch, and Even realized that this was probably where the kids went for their music part of the day.

Even could identify the music instructor immediately—he was the only adult there, donning the same black SAYO instructor shirt that Even was wearing. He was a guy with a curly mop of dark hair that Even remembered seeing around during their morning meetings and lunch. He was walking amongst the kids, stopping here and there to give them pointers and teaching them how to position their hands.

Even felt a little bad for the guy—he knew himself how hard it was to watch over fifteen kids at once, but once all the kids had more or less familiarized themselves with their cameras (and remembered to use the straps that came with the cameras so as to _not_ drop them), it was easier for Even to split his time among all of them. And so far, most of the kids quieted down when it came to his class. But the music instructor—this guy had to quickly flit between all the twosomes and threesomes at each piano, and the kids were much more raucous now than they had been in the morning (probably a consequence of the post-lunch sugar rush), and it seemed like it required a lot more stamina and energy than Even needed for his class. To his credit though, the curly-haired guy seemed like he was enjoying it, chuckling and making the kids laugh in turn as he moved from keyboard to keyboard.

No one on the stage had noticed Even come in over the loud sounds of multiple keyboards being played and the laughter and chatter above it. Even also knew for a fact that with the stage lights turned up so bright and the rest of all the auditorium lights turned off, unless anyone focused very hard, all anyone could see from first-glance looking off the stage, was pitch-black. The stage lights shone into directly into the eyes, making it so that the rest of the auditorium looked much more dark in comparison.

Even shifted his attention to the very back rows of the audience seating, only having to walk down the aisle for a couple of rows before he spotted the packet Sonja had described, balanced precariously on the armrest between two seats. He was just getting ready to leave when a new noise from the stage distracted him.

The music instructor had just let out a shout of joy as another guy walked onto stage, greeting him with a high-five. The new person’s back was turned to Even, but Even didn’t think he’d seen him around at the counselor morning meetings. There was also the fact that he wasn’t wearing the black instructor shirt, but a hoodie and snapback instead. A university student, from the looks of it.

The curly-haired guy and the boy in the snapback spoke for a moment before the music instructor pointed at the pairs of kids on keyboards on the opposite side of the stage from where they were standing, and the new guy gave a nod and walked towards them. He stopped here and there at each piano and from the looks of it, it looked like he was actually helping and teaching the other kids.

Even was wondering if the new boy was an instructor after all, that maybe Even just hadn’t initially noticed him or maybe he had just forgotten to wear his counselor T-shirt—when boy moved to another keyboard group, and Even felt a little jolt in his heartbeat. For the first time, Even could finally see his face entirely instead of just his profile, and—never mind, here was no _way_ this boy could have been a SAYO instructor that Even had just not noticed, because Even could not have possibly forgotten or looked over a face that looked like _that_.

The boy was handsome, that much he could tell. Even was standing over fifty feet away from the stage, and he couldn’t make out the details very well on the boy’s face, but it was still clear from the shape of his jawline and the way he smiled as he talked to the kids.

Even watched as the boy demonstrated something with the keyboard to the pair of kids he was working with, and then leaned between them and said something that sent the two kids into a peal of laughter. He recognized the two little girls from this morning, actually. And with a jolt of surprise he remembered that the mousy-brown haired one (was it Lise or was it Tanya?) that was currently having the time of her life was actually one of the shy, quiet and reserved kids.

 _Cute, funny, musical,_ and _good with kids_ , Even thought to himself. He was just letting his thoughts get carried away when Even’s phone buzzed once in his pocket and he was suddenly reminded why he was even here in the first place. Gathering himself, he turned quietly towards the large doors in the back, Sonja’s packet in hand. It was probably best if he slipped out now anyway, while the kids were making enough noise to mask the sound of the doors closing as he slipped out of the auditorium.

Suddenly, he wasn’t as tired as he’d been when he’d finished his shift for the day. Even wondered if the boy was an instructor here. Even quickly flipped through Sonja’s packet as he walked to the front of the building where the parents had sign-in and sign-out for the summer camp, until he found the directory for all the instructors and their respective contact information. But under the music slot, there was only a single name:

 ****MUSIC  
**Instructor:** Jonas Vasquez  
**jonas9000@gmail.com  
****215 42 505**

Even tried not to look too disappointed when he handed the packet to Elise and left the building. As he walked to his car, a multitude of questions bounced around in his head. He wondered who the boy was, he wondered why he had been helping the kids out even though he wasn’t an instructor—because that meant he wasn’t getting paid for his work. He wondered if he attended this university, and how many times Even may have walked by him on campus.

And most importantly, Even wondered if the boy would be back tomorrow.

 

 

**♪ WEDNESDAY ♪**

Even was in the auditorium again. He didn’t even have a real excuse to be in here this time—he had just slipped directly into the auditorium after he was done cleaning up his room for the day.

He just wanted to see the cute Snapback Boy again. There was no denying how desperate the move was—Even had absolutely no confirmation that he would even show up again. But he was already here, and there was really no going back now, so he took a seat in one of the very back rows. Thankfully, the lights seating area of the auditorium were off as usual, so Even was able to quietly slip in amongst the noise and chatter onstage and take a seat without anyone noticing.

He had been there only about five minutes when the boy showed up again, donning another hoodie and the same wine-red snapback he’d worn yesterday. Even tried not to be alarmed by the excitement in him at seeing the boy turn up, and it was only now that he realized how nervous he’d been about him possibly not showing up at all.

The boy wasted no time, striding over to a group that the curly-haired instructor pointed out, and immediately began to help the groups. Now that Even was focusing all his attention on the boy, he could clearly see now that even though he wasn’t an instructor (he still wasn’t wearing a SAYO T-shirt), the boy seemed to know what he was doing. He and the instructor naturally split up the groups between them, the boy taking the left half of the U of keyboards, and the instructor taking the right half. On his side of the stage, the boy with the snapback strode around from keyboard to keyboard, stopping here and there to adjust a child’s hand positions on the keyboard or demonstrate something for them, occasionally saying a joke that made the kids laugh.

By the end of the music class, Even had decided he was going to talk to this boy. He had no idea is the guy would even be interested—but Even was far too charmed by him to just _ignore_ him. He at least had to try _._

When the music instructor started wrapping up and got all the kids queued in a vague semblance of a line probably to take them to their theater class, which is what they should be having next—Snapback Boy followed them, bringing up the end of the line and helping herd the flock of kids out.

Even’s mind whirled through his options at top speed. He was only going to have one shot at this, and he had to act quickly if he was going to try. If they were all heading to their theater class, and they were going through the backstage exit out of the auditorium, then they would probably be taking the back hall down to the theater room, and if Even had to wait for them to all disappear off the stage before he himself left the auditorium, then he had about thirty seconds to meet them from the other end of the hallway before they reach the theater room—no, that wouldn’t work, it had to look like he was on his way _out_ of the building, otherwise it would look suspicious, so he’d have to come around the other way, that was fine, he’d probably be able to make it, as long as he was fast—

Even blinked the spots in his eyes away as he walked out of the dark auditorium, not having time to let his eyes adjust before he was taking long strides to the hallway on his left. He didn’t really know what he was even going to try and talk about with Snapback Boy. Had he met him at a party, maybe he would have tried to get them outside to smoke a joint, but the last thing Even needed right now was to get fired from his job for smoking in front of ten year-olds. If he “accidentally” bumped into him, he could try and start a conversation like that, too. But that would be hard to accomplish if Even was approaching him from behind him than in front of him. Even briefly considered spinning some wild story about his job as an instructor to get the conversation going. It might scare the boy off, but it would certainly get a reaction out of him.

He was halfway through concocting a wild tale about one of the kids when he caught the music instructor turn the corner at the other end of the hall, and walk directly into the theater room, with all the children in tow, but—Even felt his heart sink—no Snapback Boy at the end of the line.

 _He probably left_ , Even thought, spinning on his heel and walking to the front of the building. He didn’t even think he’d be able to get a conversation flowing with the boy today, but it wouldn’t hurt to at least get a closer glimpse of him. But when Even strode out of the building, it was to a very empty street and parking lot. There were only a handful of people in sight, most of them parents of the SAYO kids.

Maybe the boy was still inside the building and Even had missed him? Maybe he’d taken one of the back or side exits?

Even was debating the merits of going back inside to just wander around and check when he glimpsed Sonja standing at the front walk-in desk through the glass doors—the only doors unlocked from the outside. He sighed, letting his wild goose chase go for now. If he went back in now, Sonja would start asking questions, and she knew better than anyone when Even was lying.

He turned back towards the parking lot a little dejectedly. Tomorrow, he told himself, he would try and find out where Snapback Boy went after music class tomorrow.

 

 

**♪ THURSDAY ♪**

This time, when the instructor and his herd of children made their way out of the auditorium through the backstage, Snapback Boy in tow at the end of the line, Even stayed put in his seat in the back of the darkened auditorium. He was in no rush to get out this time—last time, the boy had disappeared sometime between the walk from the backstage exit to the theater room. If he really _did_ stay behind in the building, there was a chance he’d gone upstairs, where there was a café.

A café, Even could do. Even could definitely make a café work for small talk.

It didn’t make sense for the boy to walk out the side exit by the theater room, because there was nothing on that side. He’d just have to walk around the building to the front again to access the street. Maybe he’d gone to the bathroom.

 _Fuck_ —the bathroom, a small space like that was perfect for starting a conversation. And if he was in the bathroom, then that meant Even probably had to leave _now_ if he was going to have any chance of catching him before he’d left.

He was just getting ready to walk out when he heard an echoing clanging, and Even turned. There was no one on stage, so maybe the sound had come from backstage? What was anyone still doing backstage? Maybe the music instructor had returned to put all the keyboards away. Even heard the sounds of two voices in conversation, but it was faint. And then he heard the _swish_ - _bang_ sound of a door closing from far away. Even was starting to leave again, thinking that whoever had been backstage had left, when someone walked back onstage.

But it wasn’t the music instructor. It was his _Snapback Boy_ , and Even couldn’t help the small smile that grew on his face when he finally saw him. What was he doing back on here? He had a backpack slung over his shoulder now, and Even vaguely wondered where he had produced that from? His snapback was gray today.

The boy walked in a circle on the stage, stopping at each keyboard to press a button on it—he was turning all of them off, presumably. He finished his circle at the large black grand piano that was in front of the U of keyboards. He paused for a moment and glanced behind him offstage, like he was checking for something, and then he carefully slid onto the bench in front of the grand piano. Even froze, not even bothering to sit down. All the lights were off where he was standing in the aisle between the seats, and with all the stage lights shining on the boy, Even felt like he was intruding, but also like he was watching a private movie of his own. The piano was positioned so that anyone who sat on the bench was facing the left side of the stage, so Even had a clear view of the boy’s profile as he made himself comfortable on the piano bench.

He pushed the chair back a little and brushed his fingers over the keys, although he didn’t press down. He slid his backpack off his shoulders and let it rest against the legs of the piano bench, then lifted a foot onto the pedal and pressed experimentally. His fingers lifted to the keys, and he paused for a moment. It looked like he was steeling himself. Even held his breath. And then—

The boy started playing what sounded like basic scales, up and down. Even wasn’t sure what exactly he had expected, but this was fine, too. Even watched the whole exercise in fascination. He felt a little bad for spying on the Snapback Boy. But without the chatter of the children and six keyboards being played at once, the auditorium was pretty quiet. If Even dared to leave, there was no doubt that the Snapback Boy would notice.

Besides, he wasn’t doing anything _bad_ , was he? He was just playing some basic piano scales. That had to be okay, right?

So, Even quietly slid into a seat close by, although feeling slightly more guilty than he had before.

Once the boy was done with the scales, he started playing a different type of sequence. From the sounds of it, they sounded like basic warm-up exercises. After five minutes of that, the boy stopped playing to reach down into his backpack and tug out what looked like a folded piece of paper and pen. He opened up the paper, running over the folds with his palm to flatten it on his knee before lifting the sheets to the music stand and placing it there. He gazed at the sheets for a moment longer, and then he began to play again.

 _Real_ music this time, not the scales and runs and other rudimentary warm-ups he’d started out with. Even had always assumed the boy could play, what with him helping out at a piano class and given what he’d just demonstrated, but he hadn’t ever thought about _how_ good his Snapback Boy might have been.

He didn’t know much when it came to piano music, but [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFWy27pBJAM) the boy had dived into sounded distinctly classical, the type of music that Even would have imagined they played at professional black-tie piano recitals in large halls. The music had elegant, swift moving notes from the beginning, and Even found himself oddly charmed by the sight of the boy playing. It was like a paradox. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d always associated pianists with men in black suits and slicked back hair, women in long dresses and pearls. But watching this new boy shattered all his predispositions—he was simply a (very cute) teenage boy with a hoodie and a snapback, fingers dancing over the keys as fluidly as Mozart himself.

Even was reeling with a concerning amount of affection for his Snapback Boy when the music shifted slightly, and the boy started playing a rapid succession of notes so fast that Even balked. It didn’t sound humanely possible to even _play_ notes that fast, but he could see the boy right there on the stage, playing it right in front of Even’s eyes. He didn’t have time to process this before the music was shifting once again, and this time, Even’s mouth actually fell open.

The music had gone from a sophisticated and vaguely melancholy style to downright dark one, the notes unexpectedly fast and chaotic and foreboding, and Even could feel the hair on his arms stand on edge as he watched the boy’s fingers fly across the keys on the stage, one hand lifting to cross over the other then uncrossing just as rapidly. He played a wild series of high-pitched, sharp notes played insanely fast like he had earlier, notes that sounded wrong and misplaced but still somehow _fit_ into the song, all played over a pulsing dark chord sequence. Even could feel his breath catch with the tension ebbing off of the music. He’d never heard anything like it before.

The music shifted into what sounded like a finale of sorts, and the boy played a few swift series of chords and notes before ending two final brazen, finishing chords.

Even’s mouth was still open. For a moment, had to physically restrain himself from bursting into applause. Maybe it was because the last time he’d seen someone actually play the piano was ages ago, but Even felt like he’d just witnessed a pure professional playing. Snapback Boy on the other hand, lifted his fingers from the keys and gave a detached sigh, like he hadn’t just completely shaken Even’s world to the core, and picked up the pencil he’d pulled out earlier, and scribbled something onto the paper he’d placed on the piano stand.

He started playing a few notes with one hand—and from it sounds of it, they were from the same song the he had just played. He played the riff three more times through, and shook his head and sighed, lifting his pencil to the papers on the stand again. He shuffled some of the papers around, then he played a new series of notes. He reached up with his pencil again, scratched something out, and then played a new variation of the same few notes.

It went on like that, the boy playing parts of the song he’d played earlier in only bits and pieces, only stopping every few minutes to scratch something onto the sheets of paper on the music stand before moving onto a new part of the song. He only played the song in its entirety once more before he finished for the day, and it left Even just as openmouthed and breathless and he’d been the first time.

Even glanced at the time on his phone, and he felt a jolt in his stomach at the time—fuck, it was 16:23. How had nearly an entire hour gone by, just like that?

The boy collected all his papers and folded them up again, and unceremoniously shoved it back into his backpack and zipped it up. And without another word, he got up from his chair and walked offstage. A few moments later Even heard the sound of a door closing in the distance.

Even though he could technically leave now without getting caught, Even found himself rooted to his chair. How was he supposed to talk to Snapback Boy _now_? Suddenly the task seemed much more daunting—none of his desperate flirting techniques or pick-up lines seemed worthy of someone with that much talent. For all he knew, his Snapback Boy could be some famous young pianist prodigy. And for all Even knew about piano, he would probably just end up embarrassing himself. It was probably safer to just walk away from this ridiculous crush now.

 

**♪ FRIDAY ♪**

But then he found himself back inside the auditorium on Friday, mooning over the Snapback Boy’s piano skills from a distance till he left again, and Even decided that it couldn’t hurt to simply _ask_ around about him.

Maybe he’d ask Sonja if she knew who he was. And then his curiosity would be satisfied, and Even could go back to his predictable, happy, if not slightly stressful summer camp job.

He would just ask one person. Just Sonja, and then he’d be done.

Just one person.


	2. ♫ Week 2 ♫

**♪ MONDAY ♪**

As it turned out, Even wound up asking five different people about his Snapback Boy.

Granted, three out of the five were ten years old so he was pretty sure they didn’t even count, but he also didn’t know who he was even trying to fool. This pining for a boy from afar had spiraled into a full-blown infatuation at this point, and he didn’t want to think about how he’d react if things didn’t work out. Come Monday morning when he’d spotted Sonja walking down the hall, and he’d nearly sprinted to catch up and fall into step with her.

“Hey!”

“Hi,” she said, looking surprised but pleased to see him. “What’s up? Did you have a good weekend? Ready for round two?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He smiled. “These kids are really…something else.”

Sonja snorted. “You’re telling me. Did you hear about the incident last Friday?”

“The incident?”

She groaned, shaking her head. “Yeah. Some of the kids got into a fight.”

Even balked. “A _fight_? Seriously? Who?”

“Jarle and Finn.” Her tone was grim. “I think it was over a can of paint, but in the end, Finn ended up with a paint up his nose. _That_ was fun to explain to their parents and nurse.”

Even started laughing. “Wow. Finn I’m not surprised about, but _Jarle_? He’s always so quiet in my class! Barely talks to anyone.”

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Sonja sighed, checking the time on her phone. “Sorry—I’ve got to run and check in on some supplies right now, but did you need anything before I go?”

“Yeah, actually—I was wondering, do you have any volunteers working here at camp? Like maybe someone who just comes in for some time to help out, but isn’t a full time instructor maybe?”

“Volunteers?” Sonja shook her head. “No, not really. Most everyone we have is paid. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just…one of my mom’s friends’ daughter plays the piano, and she was interested in coming in and helping out. Get some community service hours and stuff, you know?” Even had rehearsed this story all weekend.  “And I thought I saw a volunteer helping the kids with the music instructor last week.”

“No, sorry, we only have one instructor per class, but…” she shrugged. “I mean, I’m not opposed to the idea. Tell her to come and talk to me, and maybe we can figure something out.”

Even didn’t have it in him to be subtle anymore. “So—who was it that I saw helping the music instructor last week? He didn’t have an instructor T-shirt on?”

Sonja’s brow furrowed. “Sorry, I don’t know? I don’t go around to the auditorium very much because it’s so far from the front of the building, and I always have to be near the check-in desk so that parents can— _shit_ ,” She said, her eyes widening at the time on her phone screen. “Listen, I’ve got to run, yeah? But I’ll…“ She broke off, looking alarmed at Even’s unreasonably devastated expression before Even could remember to hide it. “You know what?” she added as she hurried away, “Try asking Jonas! He’s our music instructor, he’d know what you’re talking about.”

So, his Snapback Boy wasn’t coming in under Sonja’s knowledge. Now that he’d finally asked Sonja, Even knew that he should _really_ be calling quits now. He’d asked his one person. He should move on, and put this ridiculous obsession behind him.

But at the same time…his whole plan to ask Sonja was based off the entire presumption that she’d give him answers. Just something, anything to go off on. And _technically_ she really hadn’t, so…

♬

“ _So_ , tell me about your other sessions,” Even began, flashing a smile. “Like in art, writing, music—what do you guys do in them?” He plopped down unceremoniously in front of three of the kids in his class. This was his last round of kids for the day—the same batch of kids that got help from Snapback Boy during their music class. They were all supposed to be working hard on taping their silent films, but these three—Tanya, Lise, and Johan—had been sitting in the corner and had accomplished more giggling in the past thirty minutes than filming. And if they were going to talk the whole time, Even might as well try and make it worth it.

Lise beamed. “I like art the best! Yesterday we got to use pastels and drew flowers.”

Even nodded. “Pastels are fun to use, aren’t they?”

Lise nodded. “I drew a daffodil.”

“What about you, Johan?” Even asked, turning to him. “Which one’s your favorite?”

Johan thought very seriously for a (painfully long) ten seconds before finally deciding: “Writing is my favorite.” He thought for a moment and then shrugged. “Or theater. And art, and music. But I like this class too.”

Even wanted point out that Johan had just listed every single class as his favorite, but he thought better of it and moved on. “So, music?” he asked. “How do you guys like that?”

Lise shot a knowing look at her friend. “Ooh, that’s _Tanya’s_ favorite,” she said slyly.

Even raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What’s your favorite part about music, Tanya?”

But Tanya had suddenly gone very pink in the cheeks, and seemed unable to reply, staring at the camera in her lap. She’d always been a very shy girl in his class, but Even knew that she spent all of music class laughing and talking.

Lise took Tanya’s silence as a green light to keep speaking. “Tanya’s got a _crush_ on the instructor,” she teased, her voice lilting in a sing-song way.

Tanya suddenly found control of her limbs again, and she jabbed her elbow into Lise’s side. “Shut _up_!” she hissed.

This was news to Even. “Jonas?”

“No, not Jonas,” Lise went on excitedly, not at all deterred, “She’s got a crush on the other instructor! Isak!”

Even felt a jolt go through him, and it took all he had to keep a straight face. His Snapback Boy had a name, after all. Isak.

But he had to make sure it was the same person. “I didn’t know the class had two instructors?”

“None of our other classes do, just music.” It was Johan who answered, although his attention was on Tanya, who half looked like she was about to dissolve into the floor and half looked like she was going to choke Lise with the camera strap she clasped around her fingers.

“Oh,” Even said, processing. And then, because he was just a little desperate and these kids would probably never suspect anything anyway, “Do you guys…like Isak as an instructor?” The name felt new and unfamiliar to say, but Even liked it.

“He’s really funny!” Lise offered, completely oblivious to Tanya’s existential crisis beside her. “And he always lets us go to the bathroom two times a class even though we’re only allowed to go once.”

“Sounds like a cool guy,” Even said, smiling. And then, because his class would be over soon, he made to get up, but not before shooting another kind smile at Tanya. “Good luck, by the way,” he added, trying to make his voice as sincere as possible because Even could empathize with her pain more than anyone else in the room. Tanya only met his eyes for an instant, but she looked a little less mortified when he walked away, so that was good.

Even tried to be as attentive as possible as he dismissed his last class for the day, but all he could think about was how Snapback Boy’s name was really Isak, and how having an actual name suddenly made him seem much more real and much less like a celebrity crush.

♬

The last person Even had approached was Jonas. Even didn’t even care if this entire thing was getting out of hand—he was more curious than ever, now.

The kids had lunch at noon, and all the instructors were required to watch over them until thirteen, at which point they were let outside to play on the playground. Three of the instructors usually headed out to watch the kids play, while two of the instructors stayed behind to clean up the cafeteria. When he had seen that Jonas and Isabel, who the writing class instructor, were the ones staying behind to help clean up today, Even found himself cornering Isabel before she left.

“Hey,” he said, trying to look casual. “Do you mind if I take your place today and stay behind to help clean up instead?”

Isabel looked surprised. Typically, staying behind to clean the cafeteria was seen as the less desirable job, since it was messy one that required more work. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Even nodded. And then, because he _really_ needed this, “I, um—I got eye surgery, last weekend.”

Her eyes bulged. “Oh, my God,” she said, staring at Even like his eyes might fall out of his head any moment. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Even waved a casual hand. “It’s all fine now, but it’s just that they’re a little sensitive to light right now. So it helps to stay inside.”

“Yeah, of course!” she smiled at him so sincerely that Even felt slightly guilty. “Good luck with that! I’ll take the outside shift.”

“Hey, dude.” Jonas nodded at him and then threw a confused glance back at the cafeteria doors, where Isabel had just disappeared through. “I thought Isabel was on kitchen duty today?”

Even grabbed one of the kitchen washcloths as Jonas walked over to the shelves to grab the sanitizing sprays. “She is, but I asked her to switch with me, because uh,” he threw Jonas the washcloth, who caught it with ease. Jonas slid one of the sanitizing sprays across the table at him. “I had this eye surgery a few days back, and they’re still kind of sensitive to…direct sunlight.” If he was going to go down this path, he might as well keep his stories straight.

Jonas raised his eyebrows. “Whoa, dude. Are you okay? What happened?”

Even’s mind raced, and he turned away and began wiping down one of the tables to buy himself some time. Why did people get eye surgeries? “I’m fine now, it’s chill. I just had a…scratched retina?”

“You scratched your _retina_?” Jonas looked up to gape at Even from the table he was cleaning.

Even cleared his throat. “Uh—no, sorry. I meant to say…cornea. Sorry, got the two mixed up.” The cornea was a part of the eye that could be scratched, right? He could have sworn his grandmother had something of the sort.

Or were those cataracts?

“Oh, cornea. Damn, sounds painful,” Jonas winced sympathetically. “Hope you get better, bro.”

Even flashed a smile at him from the table he was currently wiping down. “Thanks.”

The two of them finished cleaning up, and Even made sure to keep the conversation flowing and lighthearted while they did. He liked Jonas. The guy was relaxed and laidback, very easy to talk to. He laughed at all of Even’s jokes, his favorite food were kebabs, and guitar was his instrument of choice but he had taken piano lessons till he was fifteen, and that gave him the skills he’d needed to work this job, which he’d gotten to earn some cash over the summer for school.

It was as they were preparing to go their own separate ways—Jonas to his second round of music classes, and Even to go clean up his classroom—that Jonas mentioned something about one of the kids, and Even took that as his opening.

“Speaking of the kids, I was wondering if I could ask you something,” Even started.

Jonas turned back to him. “Yeah, of course.”

“Some of the kids the other day were talking about a second music instructor?”

Jonas only frowned for a second before recognition flashed across his features. “Oh, you’re talking about Isak,” he said, nodding.

“Yeah, Isak—” Even felt a nervous excitement at saying the name. “I was wondering if he was an instructor here? Or just a volunteer? I was only wondering because I had a cousin who was also interested in volunteering,” he added in a rush. Sonja and the kids he could be desperate around, but he couldn’t risk setting off any alarms with Jonas, who was clearly friends with Snapback Bo—Isak.

Jonas shrugged; thankfully, he didn’t look suspicious of Even’s true intents. “Sorry dude, I don’t actually know about volunteering and stuff. Isak’s just my best bro. He’s got night classes on the fourth floor of this building, and if he’s got time he sometimes comes by after work. And he just offered to help me out, because he knows basic piano stuff.”

“Basic piano stuff,” Even repeated, trying to figure out if Jonas was trying to make a joke.

“Yeah, he’s had a few of years of music lessons,” Jonas said, his tone indicating that he was nothing but serious. Apparently, he wasn’t joking.

Even was silent for a moment as he processed this. “Um, right.” He knew he was no piano expert, but there was no way the complexity and speed of the music Isak played could be attained from just a couple of years of music lessons and basic piano stuff.

“But yeah, if your cousin knows piano, feel free to send her over,” Jonas added with a smile as he walked off. “We could always use more help. I don’t think Sonja would mind.”

♬

When Even snuck into the auditorium in the middle of music class that day, he couldn’t help but feel as if something had changed. Maybe it was because he knew that the boy’s name was Isak now—as if having a name somehow increased Even’s chances with him. It didn’t. Nonetheless, he was glad to finally have a name for him, because Snapback Boy wasn’t even wearing a snapback today. This development sent Even into another wave of being charmed. He couldn’t decide if the loss of the snapback made Isak look younger or older. Even so, he was still very cute—if not more so.

Isak walked around on the keyboards on his side of the room, and Even caught Tanya, Lise, and Johan giggling their heads off as Isak walked by behind them. And before long, Even found himself losing track of the time _again_ , as he had the last week, by simply watching the class go by.

Going off what he’d seen from Friday, Isak always seemed to do the same thing once the class was over. He’d watch the kids at the back of the line as Jonas led the line of children to their next class, and Isak went with them. Then, Isak would disappear for about ten to fifteen minutes (Even had no idea what Isak did during this time, but he couldn’t leave the auditorium to find out because he couldn’t risk walking into the auditorium when Isak was playing, lest he be caught). Once Isak returned, he’d sit down at the piano, and promptly blow Even’s mind away with his playing.

He also didn’t always play the one intense piece he’d played that first day Even had heard him. Sometimes he played softer, peaceful songs, though the notes and rhythm were always complex. And, they were usually all memorized. The sheet music he did have he kept messily folded away in his backpack, only pulling it out now and then to scribble or erase something on it. Other times, he even played songs that Even could vaguely recognize, though he wasn’t sure from where or when. Most of the pieces were usually always very classical or traditional sounding—stuff that Even would have probably never bothered to listen to on his own—but somehow, watching Isak play the music had an entrancing appeal that Even didn’t know how to explain.

The entire situation was ironic, really. It seemed like a crude joke from the fates. His own mother was an enthusiastic piano fan who’d sent Even to piano lessons at the age of his six. She had even gone as far as to bargaining a century-old piano off of one of their neighbors soon after he’d started, hoping that Even would grow into some kind of piano-playing sensation. To her disappointment however, Even wanted nothing of the sort.

He’d _loathed_ the lessons from the very first day and had only lasted a few months before he put his foot down. He hated the patience that it took to play, hated the way his fingers kept stumbling over the keys and wouldn’t go fast enough, hated the patience and discipline it took to practice every day, and it didn’t help that he hadn’t been the biggest fan of his elderly piano teacher, who smelled weird and clicked her tongue every time he’d make a mistake (which was a lot, since he never practiced). On top of it all, he’d always found the music itself tedious and boring. On that level he had never been able to see eye to eye with his mother. He could probably fall asleep to the soft tones of a piano, but it was nothing he’d ever listen to in his own free time.

And now here he was: willingly sentencing himself to sitting in the dark for hours on end just to hear an attractive boy play. His mother would never let him hear the end of it.

Even blinked, distracted by the music that Isak was now playing. The bittersweet tone of it was so familiar—wait, Even actually _knew_ this one. He did, because this wasn’t a classic, this was…Isak was playing the background melody to Eminem’s _Mockingbird_. Even breathed a laugh. So, his Snapback Boy was cute, played the piano, was good with kids, and now he apparently listened to Eminem.

Even held back a sigh. The more he tried to step back from this ridiculous crush, the more he found himself adding new layers to this guy he couldn’t stop from painting in his head. Now the only thing that could be scarier than actually approaching Isak in real life would be if he didn’t wasn’t the person Even was hoping he could be. _Then_ what was he supposed to do? Move on?

Even was lost in thought when Isak abruptly cut off in the middle of the song. He did this often, to Even’s continuous disappointment—starting a beautiful piece and then stopping halfway through. Isak lifted his fingers from the piano and slumped on the bench with a sigh, bringing his hands up to run them over his face. He rubbed at his eyes and temples, looking suddenly very exhausted. And then, before Even could react or move, Isak shifted his attention from the piano, absently gazing out over the audience seating—where Even was sitting.

 _Fuck_.

Even held his breath.

Isak’s eyes roamed vaguely over the audience seating once. Even remained very still. He knew that there was really no way Isak would be able to make him out—from the way the stage lights shone into his eyes, all Isak would see in front of him was a giant, carnivorous black pit. Isak would have had to concentrate very hard and wait for his eyes to adjust if he wanted to even just make out the doors on the side of the auditorium.

Thankfully though, it seemed like Isak’s mind was somewhere else as he looked out over the seating. For a second, his gaze swiveled and Even couldn’t breathe—it looked like Isak was looking _right_ at him—but then Isak turned his attention back to the piano in front of him. He pulled out his phone and glanced at it for another second before heaving an audible sigh and pushing back from the piano chair. And then he grabbed his backpack and left through the backstage again.

Even remained in his seat, heart thudding in his ears. Sure, Isak hadn’t noticed him there, but Even couldn’t keep doing this forever. The risks of this were simply too high to ignore anymore. What if he’d gotten _caught_? How was he supposed to explain himself then? Somehow, Even didn’t think the fact that he had been spying on Isak was a great way to break the ice. Besides, the whole thing felt wrong.

He left the auditorium with a grim determination and understanding. If he wanted his crush to ever lead anywhere, he was going to have to stop spying on him and actually talk to him.

 

**♪ TUESDAY ♪**

Even didn’t sneak into the auditorium during music class today.

It was the only way he knew how to completely force himself from spying on Isak for another day. There was a part of him that would have probably have been content with just admiring him from the dark for the rest of his life.

Instead, he spent the hour and fifteen minutes between the end of his shift and the end of music the music class by taking some extra time cleaning up his classroom, wandering the halls, and trying to talk himself into a good starter-conversation topic. The only issue was that he didn’t know a thing about classical music.

_Hey, I was walking by and couldn’t help but notice you were playing incredibly well. Are you an instructor here?_

He checked his hair in the bathroom mirror.

_My uncle’s been looking for pianists to play at his restaurant. Would you be interested? I’d just need your name and number._

He Googled classical composers. He recognized a grand total of three.

_Was that Mozart you were just playing?_

He very nearly convinced himself to give up on the whole thing.

_Who’s your favorite composer?_

He checked his hair in the mirror again.

_Did you know I’m actually related to Beethoven?_

 

Even waited until he was sure Isak would be back on stage before he finally went through with it. He decided to walk in through the backstage doors from the side that Isak always came in through, hoping that having an opportunity to walk in on stage while Isak was facing the other way would give him the advantage of being able to gauge the situation before making a careful next step.

Except, it didn’t work out like that at all.

What he _hadn’t_ realized was that walking on stage while Isak was playing facing away meant that Isak didn’t immediately realize he was there. This gave Even two options—either _he_ would have to take the first step and talk to Isak while he was still playing, or he would have to wait till Isak finished his song. The latter seemed like a much better option, until Even realized that it came with the risk of Isak turning around before Even had announced his presence, and somehow he didn’t think Isak would appreciate that. But the more he thought about it, the more skittish he got about the whole thing, and he knew he had to do _something_ before he convinced himself to sneak back out before he made any move at all.

“Hi.”

Isak jumped up from his seat on the bench so fast that Even was pretty sure his form blurred. The auditorium echoed with the loud scraping noise the bench made as it was shoved back, and Isak whipped around. His eyes were wild, and he muttered an “Oh, fuck,” and well, this wasn’t going as Even had planned at _all_ —

Even took a step back and held his hands up. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you.”

But Isak wasn’t looking at his face, his eyes were focused on Even’s chest.

“Sorry,” Isak blurted. “I didn’t think…I’m sorry, I know that this piano is reserved for SAYO use only.” He sounded nervous, and he kept glancing back down at something on Even’s chest. Even followed his line of sight. Had he spilled something on his shirt? And then it clicked—Even was wearing the SAYO instructor T-Shirt, and Isak was staring at the logo imprinted on the front.

“It’s okay,” Even said, trying out a reassuring smile and taking a step forward. “I just heard you playing and thought I’d stop by to tell you that it sounded really good. It’s Isak, right?”

Isak looked mildly alarmed by the fact that Even knew his name, like Even might report it to the campus or something. Even immediately backpedaled. “I’m an instructor here too,” He added quickly. “I teach the film sector. And I’ve just heard about the other kids talk about you.” He took another few steps forward and flashed the friendliest grin he could muster and held out his hand. “I’m Even. Nice to finally meet the legendary instructor Isak in person.”

Isak looked momentarily speechless before he let out a quiet laugh. “Legendary,” he echoed with a huff, reaching a hand out to tentatively return Even’s handshake. To Even’s relief, he looked a little more at ease now, and a little less like he wanted to bolt for the nearest exist.

An awkward stretch of silence fell between them. Isak seemed incapable of looking anywhere but his feet. On the other hand, Even couldn’t bring himself to look away from Isak’s face. He could’ve told from over fifty feet away that Isak was very clearly attractive, but he wished he had had a little more time to prepare himself for _how_ attractive Isak would be.

God. Had he always had those lips?

Even gestured to the piano behind Isak. “So…you play?” he asked, and promptly wanted to kick himself. Hours trying to come up with good pick-up lines, and that’s what he’d decided to go with? As if he hadn’t just walked in on Isak very obviously playing the piano.

Isak glanced at the piano and then back at Even and gave a short laugh. “Uh, yeah. A little.”

A little? A _little_? “You sounded really good, from what I heard.”

Even had meant it as a compliment, but Isak looked guilty again at this. “Yeah, about that—listen, I’m really sorry, I know I shouldn’t have been playing it without permission and all. I know it’s rented out solely for your camp thing right now.”

Even blinked at him, confused. Why was he apologizing to him? It wasn’t like he was the director, or the president of the university. And then—oh.

“It’s really no big deal,” Even said. “I don’t even care, honestly. I’m not the director or anything, just an instructor. All the music classes are over for the day anyway. I don’t think anyone would care if you used to piano after that. _Especially_ if you play that well.”

Isak’s lips lifted into a crooked smile, and Even questioned his health and his sanity and everything in between when he found it hard to think straight at the sight of it.

There was no way he was going to make it out of this in one piece.

“Thanks,” Isak said. He blinked at Even. “Um…how much did you hear me play?” And _right_ , Even had to remind himself that Isak didn’t know about the last couple days of snooping Even had carried out. And god help him, Even planned on taking that secret with him to the grave if he could help it.

“Not much,” Even assured quickly, though maybe a little too quickly. “Just…enough to know you’re really good. How long have you been playing?” He needed to steer the topic of conversation away from the dangerous territory they were heading towards.

Isak looked a little shy now. “Since I was six.”

No _wonder_ he played like a prodigy. “Wow. So that’s like, what?” He tilted his head, as if casually wondering. “Twelve years? Fifteen?”

“Thirteen,” Isak answered, looking amused, and Even wondered if he was being too obvious.

Then he wondered if he even _cared_ if Isak noticed if he was being obvious. He was far too enamored with this boy at this point to play it aloof and cool.

 _Thirteen years_. Even’s mind worked at top-speed to do the math—far quicker than it had ever bothered to work whenever he’d been in school, at any rate. He tried to contain the smile bubbling up to his lips. So he’d been right. The boy _was_ in university.

“So…” Even said, “If you’re not an instructor, do you just help out here for fun?”

“Yeah, I have a class on the fourth floor at eighteen. I usually come straight to campus after work anyway, and when Jonas mentioned that I could come and help out if I wanted, I just,” he shrugged. “I thought it would be fun.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Even said, and Isak smiled at his feet.

“Yeah, I mean—“ Isak gave another jerk of a shrug. “Just something to pass the time, you know? And I don’t have much school work yet because my summer class just started and stuff, so.”

Even nodded, and another lengthy silence fell between him and Isak. Isak shifted uncomfortably. Even tried to desperately collect himself, he needed to think fast—he couldn’t just _leave_ Isak now, he’d just gotten to talk to him, he had to keep his attention while he had him—

Even stepped around Isak and walked towards to piano, trying his very best to maintain the casual air he’d been donning. He could feel Isak’s eyes following him as he came to a stop beside it and ran his hand over the sleek black surface on the side.

“What were you playing, before? It sounded familiar.” If Even was completely honest he couldn’t remember what it had even sounded like, but Isak didn’t need to know that.

“Tchaikovsky.” Isak watched with an eyebrow raised in amusement as he watched Even stall time, studying every inch of the grand piano like he knew what he was doing.

“Oh, that’s why.” Even smiled. He didn’t think he could even repeat the name back to Isak. “I thought it sounded familiar.”

“You listen to Tchaikovsky?” Isak asked, his tone surprised.

Oh, no. “Yeah, yeah. I used to listen to them all the time.”

“ _Did_ you now?” Isak was smiling now, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh. Even knew that it was probably because he had fucked up his façade and that Isak was trying not to laugh _at_ him, but Isak was smiling, and Even would take what he could get.

“Do you play, too?” Isak’s tone was teasing, and Even grinned in reply because okay, _yes_ —this was something he could play along with, this was good.

“Of course.” Even walked back around the piano and slid onto the piano bench with an exaggerated flourish. He turned back to Isak and grinned. “Want to listen?”

Isak laughed, finally moving from his spot to slide in beside Even on the bench. It was a long bench, so both he and Isak fit on it comfortably without touching—but all the same, the sudden proximity of Isak to him was incredibly unnerving. Then he made the mistake of turning his head to look at Isak, whose face was much closer than Even had expected it to be, and mind went completely blank for a few seconds.

Isak met his eyes for a brief, electric moment. Even vaguely wondered in the back of his mind exactly how soon would be considered too soon to kiss someone you’d just met. But Isak broke their eye contact before Even could pursue _that_ dangerous train of thought for any longer, flickering his attention down at the keys because—right, Even was supposed to be playing.

“I should warn you,” Even said seriously. “I’m very good. It might be overwhelming.”

“Oh, of course.” Isak nodded. “I’ll try my best to stay calm.” His tone was sardonic but there was a gleam in his eyes—a very nice green, Even noted absently.

Even smiled and returned his attention to the piano, and he stared at it blankly for a few moments. When had been the last time he’d touched one of these again? He could barely distinguish one key from another, but there was one song he was pretty sure he could play.

He placed his three middle fingers on three random consecutive keys on the piano. He pressed his pointer finger down—fuck, no, that wasn’t right—and then his middle finger—no, that wasn’t right either—and then finally, his ring finger. There it was. _That_ sounded like the first note. And then he played the song. Ring finger, middle finger, pointer finger. Three, two, one. Two—fuck, no, one, one, one, one, two, two, two, two, three, two one.

All in all, not his greatest rendition of _Hot Cross Buns_ , but it had gone much better than initially expected.

A beat of silence followed after his train wreck of a performance.

Isak broke it first. “Wow. I’m actually pretty overwhelmed right now.”

“I think I’m a little rusty,” Even said.

They both turned to look at each other and their eyes met for a split-second before they were both bursting into laughter.

“I’m sorry, I was just joking with you.” Even said after their laughter had begun to lessen. He leaned over and bumped his shoulder with Isak’s. “I have no idea what—what Chai-skee? Chai-whatever…?”

“Tchaikovsky,” Isak finished, still chuckling a little.

“Yeah, that.” Even huffed a laugh. “I have no idea what that is.”

“It’s a _he_ ,” Isak shook his head, smiling. “And he’s a composer.”

“See, I wouldn’t know that, either—because I haven’t played the piano since I was about six or seven. My mom made me take piano lessons but I eventually quit.”

“You didn’t like it?”

 _I hated it_ , would have been the truthful answer, but for some reason Even couldn’t bring himself to say that to Isak, who touched the piano like it was a God-given gift. So instead Even settled for a simple, “It just didn’t click with me, I guess.” He shrugged.

Isak hummed. “I mean, you play a pretty killer _Hot Cross Buns_ , though.”

“I’m flattered,” Even laughed. The lighthearted atmosphere was doing things to his confidence—dangerous things—and feeling stupidly daring, he took another leap. “But it’s your turn now.”

“My turn?”

Even nodded. “To play something. I played you something, now it’s your turn.”

Isak shifted in his chair, eyes falling down to the keys again. “I don’t know…I don’t really—”

“C’mon.” Even leaned over and bumped his shoulder again. “I _know_ you play really well. In any case, it’s probably a hundred times better than what _I_ just played, anyway.”

Isak’s fingers brushed over the keys once. “What should I play?” For someone who played like a prodigy, he sounded incredibly nervous.

“Anything, I guess, that you could play off the top of your head? What about what you were playing earlier? Chai-kaisky or whatever? Or…” Even’s gaze fell on the music stand, where there were a few sheets of paper. “Maybe you could play that?”

His hands unconsciously reached for the sheets of music before he could stop himself. Isak tensed beside him when Even began to pull it off the stand, and Even froze. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no.” Isak shook his head. “It’s fine, you can go ahead.”

Even held his gaze for a second longer to make certain that Isak was completely okay with it before returning his attention to the paper. It was just sheet of lined notebook paper, but every inch of it was covered in music symbols and notations. The paper was worn and crumpled, with deep crease marks from where it had been folded many times, and Even could make out the word _Crisis_ scrawled at the top. Horizontal lines had been drawn in pencil both on top and between each of the pre-printed lines on the paper; every set of five lines blocked off as a music staff. Within each staff was roughly sketched music notes—a countless number of them, filling up the page, in various colors and inks, blue and black and red tones to the dull grey marks of a pencil.

Every bit of the paper contained crossed out notes, notes drawn over each other, and little squiggles and symbols that Even dimly recognized from music classes as a kid. He saw what looked like an elongated greater-than symbol and lesser-than symbol side-by-side— they meant _crescendo_ and _decrescendo_ , didn’t they? And he could have sworn that the little bold ‘ _f_ ’ meant that you were supposed to play loudly. He remembered seeing it in the music that he had played as a kid.

This was music. Isak was composing _music_.

“Did you come up with all of this on your own?” Even finally asked, realizing he’d been silent for way too long.

Isak nodded, looking apprehensive. “It’s not…it’s really messy, I know. I don’t own any blank sheet music notebooks or anything, so I usually just go with what’s on me at the time, so it’s really disorganized…”

“This is amazing,” Even breathed. “Seriously. I’ve never met anyone that could compose music before. This is so fucking cool.”

“Thanks,” Isak said, looking a little flustered now.

Even held the sheet music out to Isak. “You should play this.”

“Uh, this?” Isak’s eyes widened. “Are you sure? It’s a little…intense.”

“That’s okay.” Even said, holding the music back to him. “I want to hear what you wrote.”

Isak blinked at him for a moment before taking the sheet from Even and placing it back on the music rack. He lifted his hands to the piano keys and Even pretended not to notice how his hands shook a little bit. He wondered why Isak was so nervous—he _knew_ Isak could play like a mini-Mozart. Did he have stage-fright?

“It’s not completely finished,” Isak said abruptly. “I mean, it is. Sort of. But it’s not polished. So it might not sound perfect.”

“Did you not just hear my terrible playing?” Even laughed. “Don’t worry, I have pretty much no expectations. Even if you mess up every other note I’m pretty sure you’d still be a million times better than me.”

Isak smiled, and then his eyes flickered down to the piano. And then he played.

Even recognized [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFWy27pBJAM) immediately. It was the first one he’d ever heard Isak play—the one that had completely blown him away in the dark and empty auditorium that first time he’d stayed after. The one that started out slow and classical before morphing into a fast-moving avalanche of notes.

If Isak had been nervous before, then his playing certainly didn’t show it. His hands were completely deft and sure as they moved across the ivory keys, somehow making every note in the chaotic song sound purposeful and meticulously selected. The sheet music was splayed out in front of him, but he hardly bothered to look at it.

And though he’d heard it a few times before, Even still found his breath catching when the music really took off, in time with Isak’s fingers. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. His fingers were moving so fast that they nearly seemed to blur as they flew across the keys; Even couldn’t possibly comprehend how Isak was even sure of which key he was pressing. It was one thing to watch and hear it from far away, but to see it up _close_ was...incredible. It was like watching a master at work. Even never had the opportunity to observe a pianist so closely before, and an amazing one at that.

At some point, Even forced himself to tear his eyes away from Isak’s flying fingers to glance up at his face. Isak was completely immersed within the music; eyes only focused on the keys. His brows were pulled together slightly in concentration, and he leaned into the piano with purpose for every note he played, head moving with the rhythm.

And if Even hadn’t already completely and utterly fallen for Isak that first day in the auditorium, then he sure had now.

He was still somewhat holding his breath when the music began to culminate towards a finale, rising and gradually building until the final high note. Even was speechless.

Isak blinked a little rapidly when the sudden silence fell upon them, as if he’d momentarily forgotten Even was there.

“It’s, uh—“ Isak’s voice was a little hoarse, and he coughed loudly to clear it. “I know it’s not really—”

“Shit,” Even mumbled.

Isak looked at him in surprise.

“Shit,” Even said again, because _shit._ “Did you…you write that?”

Isak gave a hesitant nod.

“You wrote that. Like, all of that. All on your _own_?”

Isak nodded again.

“Shit,” Even said again.

“I mean,” Isak laughed at Even’s dumbfounded expression. “I didn’t come up with it in a day. It took a long time, actually. This is probably the only composition I’ve ever done that’s taken over a month to complete—”

“You have _more_ of them?”

“Not all of them are in this style, but yeah,” Isak said, looking faintly alarmed with Even’s reaction.

Even shook his head. There went all his dreams of ever sweeping Isak off his feet. How was he supposed to woo someone who had this kind of level of talent?

“That’s fucking incredible,” Even told him seriously. “You’re good, _really_ good. Like, prodigy level good. I don’t know what you’re doing volunteering at a summer camp, you should be out there playing at the Oslo Konserthus or something…”

Isak half-heartedly rolled his eyes and tried to shrug it off with a, “I’m not _that_ good…”

“You are!” Even persisted. “I don’t know a thing about music, but I don’t even need to be to see that you are.”

Something in Isak’s face softened. “Thank you,” he finally said.

“Play something else,” Even blurted, before realizing how demanding that sounded. “Uh, please. If you can, I mean. If you want.”

To his surprise, Isak didn’t immediately reject the idea. Instead, he smiled a little, looking fond of Even’s enthusiasm. “Okay,” he said. “What should I play?”

It was a slight hindrance that Even didn’t know a thing about piano music, but he could certainly fake it till he made it. He contemplated for a moment. “Something fun,” he decided, to contrast what Isak had just played. “Maybe something that I’d know?”

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

Shit. Was Even supposed to just _know_ types of classical music? He decided to turn the question back to Isak. “What kind of piano music would you describe as fun?”

“Uh…” Isak twisted his lips in thought and blew some air out. Even wanted to kiss those lips till the day he died. “Ragtime music,” he decided.

“Yeah, ragtime!” Even nodded with a smile like he knew what that meant. The name rung a dim bell in the back of his mind, but there was no concrete definition to it—just a style of music that fell into a vague cluster with words like ‘jazz’ and ‘blues’ within the files of his mind. Unfortunately, neither of which were styles he could say he listened to. He’d never really sorted his music tastes by style, he just kind of listened to…everything.

“You listen to ragtime?” Isak looked surprised.

“Of course.” Even was pleased with how confident his lie came out sounding. He nearly believed it himself.

“Okay…” Isak shrugged. “So, do you have a song in mind that you want me to play?”

Again, Even had absolutely no idea, so he turned the question back to Isak. “You decide. If you think of ragtime music, what’s the first song that comes to mind?”

Isak hummed in thought for a moment. “Oh, I know. I’d bet that you know this one.”

In the back of his mind, Even dryly hoped that Isak wouldn’t have bet a lot of money on it. But then [Isak started playing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMAtL7n_-rc), and wait—Even _did_ know this one. He couldn’t place where he’d heard it for the life of him, but the energetic and springy tune was instantly familiar. It sounded like the kind of thing that he would have imagined serving as the animated background music during the black-and-white silent film era.

“I _do_ know this one,” Even told Isak as he played, realizing a beat too late that he shouldn’t have sounded so surprised about the fact, considering that Isak was supposed to be under the impression that Even regularly listened to ragtime music.

Thankfully, Isak didn’t seem to notice the slip-up. “It’s the _Maple Leaf Rag_ ,” he said with a smile. “It’s a pretty famous ragtime piece.”

Isak played the whole song all the way through, and Even sat and watched patiently, a little mesmerized by it all. It wasn’t until Isak reached the end of the song that Even realized that Isak had played the entire thing from memory.

“How did you just happen to _know_ the entire song like that?” he demanded. “You didn’t even have the music in front of you this time.”

“I’ve actually known this one since I was about nine or ten,” Isak admitted. “My piano teacher made me memorize the whole thing to play at a recital. It’s fine now, it’s not actually too hard to play. What’s hard is staying on tempo. But back then it was probably the most nerve-wracking thing I’ve ever done.”

“If that’s what you consider ‘not hard’, I can’t even begin to imagine what is.”

Isak laughed, his hands unconsciously drifting back up to the piano to play a lighter, softer version of the song, fingers only slightly brushing the keys. He was barely even paying attention to his fingers. He looked almost bored. Even wondered what made something challenging for him.

“Can you play faster?” Even asked. Isak turned his head to him and raised an eyebrow, but obliged Even’s request nonetheless. Even could sense the tempo speeding up just slightly, playing more normally now.

“Faster,” Even challenged, and Isak turned his attention fully to the piano now, a smile pulling at his lips. [The pace of the music sped up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jiLjm5ovuk), and now it _really_ felt like Even was listening to the background music of some silent cartoon-bit. Even was grinning now, having fun.

“As fast as you can go,” he encouraged, and Isak huffed out a short laugh as he seemingly pushed himself to the limit—the music took off at double the speed of what he’d originally been playing it at. Even slid back in his seat on the bench to give Isak a little more space as he leaned his entire upper body into the playing to keep the speed. It looked like Even was watching Isak’s fingers in a weird sped-up version of reality, he was playing _that_ fast. The sound got more and more warped—it didn’t even sound like the original song anymore.

“Oh, my God,” Even laughed, shaking his head.

Isak looked like he was trying not to laugh but was unable to do so at the speed at which he was playing, but for some reason that only made Even laugh harder, which probably didn’t help Isak’s situation. Eventually, Isak’s fingers stumbled and stopped when he surrendered to his own laughter.

He lightly elbowed Even’s arm. “You messed me up!” he said, opening and closing his fingers into a fist a few times. “ _Wow_ , that aches. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before.”

“What, just messing around?” Even asked. Isak shook his head no.

“You don’t ever just fuck around on the piano for the sake of it?” Even said, incredulous. If he could play like a god like Isak, it’d probably be all he’d do.

Isak shrugged. “Not really. Composing is about as far as I get.”

“You should,” Even said. “That was fun.”

“It was,” Isak agreed.

And then they were both grinning at one another like idiots and Even really didn’t want this ridiculously bubbly feeling inside him to leave, so he said, “Play something else.”

And Isak did.

They sat there, messing around, joking, and laughing, with Isak playing and obliging to every single one of Even’s requests or wishes no matter how pointless or silly, while Even tried not to visibly swoon. It was disconcerting how easy it was to fall into a comfortable conversation with him. Any trace of the initial nervousness of meeting someone new seemed to have evaporated with their laughter.

And if you had asked Even how much time might have gone by, Even wouldn’t have known. It could have been thirty minutes or it could have been hours.  Something about sitting on the empty stage with just him, Isak, and the music coming from the piano with no one else around them in the vast and pitch-black auditorium—Even felt like they were suspended in time. The world may have kept spinning outside the stage doors, but Even didn’t care.  

It was _perfect_ —more than perfect, actually, it was a slice of heaven. And really, Even knew deep inside that something that wonderful would inevitably have to come to an end, but that didn’t help him be any less devastated when it happened.

Isak’s fingers were mindlessly playing something Even didn’t recognize and Even was rambling about something one of the students had told him last week—Isak knew the student too, because he had been in the batch of kids Jonas helped out with. Isak had been laughing in reaction to the story when Even’s phone notification went off in their pocket.

Isak’s fingers stilled on the keys, cloaking the place in sudden silence. They both blinked at one another in surprise, and Even knew they were thinking the same thing. They had both forgotten that the world outside the auditorium still existed.

Even was about just ignore whoever was trying to reach them because fuck it. He was finally talking with Isak, and Isak was actually talking with him. Nothing had ever gone his way like this in _ages._ The rest of the world could wait.

But then Isak’s eyes widened. “Oh, _fu_ —what time is it?” he asked.

“Uh…” Even fished his phone out from his pocket. The notification had been from his mother, asking if he could pick up dinner on the way home tonight. “Five minutes to six.”

“It’s been _three_ hours?! Shit.” Even watched with a sinking feeling in his chest as Isak looked around himself once and then began shuffling all the music sheets on the rack into a pile, not even bothering to check if they were in order before folding them all up. He shoved it unceremoniously into his backpack and zipped it up before sliding off the seat and standing. Their arms or legs hadn’t exactly been touching on the seat, but Even still felt a drastic sense of loss.

“Sorry,” Isak said as he hoisted his backpack strap on his shoulder. “I’d completely forgotten—I have a class here on the fourth floor at eighteen.”

Even tried his best to look as if he wasn’t a little bit devastated. “That’s okay, I completely lost track of the time.”

“Me, too. Sorry,” Isak said again. “I’d skip, but I have a quiz today.” To his credit, Isak did look genuinely remorseful. It probably wasn’t for the same reasons Even hoped he was sorry, but the thought warmed his heart all the same. Enough to make Even realize that he _really_ wanted to see Isak again.

“It’s okay. So…” Even took a shallow breath and just went for it. “I guess…maybe see you around here tomorrow? Are you gonna stay after tomorrow, after Jonas’ class?”

“I’d love to, but I don’t…” Isak looked torn. “The university only grants access to the grand piano to those who’ve rented it out. And right now the SAYO camp’s renting it for the next few weeks. I’d been sneaking in and playing it these last couple weeks because I don’t have one at home, but—I’m not really even an instructor here. I’d love to, but…I really shouldn’t do this anymore. I shouldn’t risk getting caught, because I’m here on a scholarship and stuff…”

And no, this couldn’t be happening—Isak _had_ to come back, how else was Even supposed to win him over? And besides, the situation was ridiculous. Isak was practically an instructor here anyway, what with helping Jonas out all the time, and so was Even—

“Well, _I’m_ an instructor here,” Even said slowly. “And technically, since I’m officially affiliated with the SAYO camp, I think that as long as I’m overseeing you—then the right to play that piano is all yours.”

The move was so very desperate, the reasoning behind it enormously flimsy. Isak could probably figure out a million other better ways to gain access to the piano if he really wanted to without Even butting into it all. But Even pressed on anyway. “And if someone does catch us, we can just say it was me using the piano, and that I’m a SAYO instructor. That way, you can keep coming by to use the piano and there’s no chance of you getting into trouble.”

Even waited, holding his breath for the worst. Isak was going to deny his ridiculous idea and Even was probably never going to see that smile again. He felt hopeless.

But then a slow smile began to form on Isak’s face. “I think that sounds like a good idea,” he said. Even’s heart skipped some five to ten beats.

Isak raised an eyebrow. “And you would be overseeing my playing?”

“Yeah well, someone’s gotta make sure that you don’t run off with the piano or something.”

Isak huffed a laugh and Even felt like he had won a small victory. “Trying to sneak off campus with a thousand pound grand piano in tow?” Isak joked. “Aw, you got me."

Even couldn’t think of anything else to say in that moment so he settled for just smiling stupidly at Isak until Isak came to his senses and remembered his class.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Isak said as he left.

If the last three hours hadn’t done it, those words alone were enough to have Even rooted to his seat on the piano bench for quite some time after Isak had left, reeling in his emotions and feeling like something enormous had shifted in his life. Which was absurd, really—because Even had spoken to this boy for less than a handful of hours. But that knowledge did nothing to quell the feeling in his chest.

And as Even walked back to his car, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot, he couldn’t help but feel like having crushes and falling in love was a lot less like walking on air and more like his entire being was _made_ of air; as if his chest had been filled to the brim with the purest oxygen, swelling and swirling with a multitude of wonderful emotions that he couldn’t exactly place nor define, enough to the point where it felt like he was going to burst.

He _loved_ it.

 

**♪ WEDNESDAY ♪**

When Even had finished cleaning up his classroom for the day, it took nearly every last ounce of self-control in his body to keep himself from going into the auditorium again during Jonas’ last music class to watch before meeting Isak in the auditorium after class. It didn’t seem right to spy on him—especially since Even had actually met Isak now.

To keep himself busy, he cleaned up his classroom just a bit more. He planned out what he was going to teach them over the next few weeks, then fixed a few of the toy props a few of the kids had dropped or broken. When he was done with all of this he still had about fifteen minutes, so he decided to head upstairs to the café on the second floor.

It was a split-second decision—one he hadn’t even thought of until he started to give his order—but as he ordered his tea, he wound up adding a coffee to his order as well. He had no idea if Isak was even a coffee drinker, but Even supposed that he’d have to start somewhere if he was going to try with Isak, and this seemed innocent enough.

When he finally walked onto the stage—this time opting for the backstage doors on the other side so that he’d be facing Isak when he walked in—Isak was already seated on the piano bench, playing what sounded like basic scales. Even tried not to let his thoughts run away when Isak’s face lit up at the sight of him.

“I was wondering if you were going to actually show up,” Isak said, sliding over on the bench a little to make room for Even.

“Of course I would have,” Even said, holding out Isak’s coffee. “And not only that, I brought us something to drink.”

Isak blinked at the cup in Even’s outstretched hand in surprise. “For me?”

“Yeah, it’s coffee. Wasn’t sure how you liked it, but I got it with cream and sugar? I just…” Even hesitated. “I remembered that yesterday we were here for hours and then you had to go straight to class, so I thought you might need this.”

“Oh,” Isak said. Even saw him visibly swallow before tentatively reaching for the cup in Even’s hand. “And, uh…cream and sugar is perfect, thanks.” he gave a small smile. Even smiled back and moved to slide onto the seat, so as to give him a distraction from the feeling of Isak’s fingers brushing against his as he took the coffee from him.

“So, I have a question. Are you a music major?” Even began, getting himself comfortable on the bench.

“No,” Isak took a sip of his coffee and shook his head. “Biochemistry, actually.”

“What? Seriously?” Isak nodded, and Even halted in the act of raising his own cup to his lips. “But…why? You’re already so good!”

“Nah, I just…” Isak shrugged. “I love it, but music is kind of an escape for me, you know? Kind of…my only escape. I’m always worried that if I turn it into a career, that I’d lose that part of it. And that’s something I don’t want to risk happening.”

Even nodded. “That makes sense.” He’d had the same worries when he began pursuing film in university, but in the end his passion for it had won out over his fears, along with the fact that he really couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life doing anything else. “So you, what? Kind of just piano around on the side?”

“I guess,” Isak laughed. “I used to play all the time, but I don’t have a piano at home anymore, so these days it’s mostly just me trying to find ways to keep myself playing. That’s why I helped out at SAYO and stuff. And,” he gestured to the piano in front of them with a sheepish expression. “I’ll admit I hoped to get to play around on this every once in a while too when no one was watching, I guess.”

Even frowned. The fact that Isak could play as well as he did but had to work to find ways to keep playing almost seemed like a crime. “Doesn’t the university loan this piano out?”

“They used to, for free. But then they ramped up the arts and music programs and renovated this place—“ He waved a hand at the pitch black auditorium beside him. “And I guess they needed the money, so they started charging for anyone who wanted to use the piano. And the fee isn’t cheap, either, so…”

Even felt himself tense, a sudden horrible thought occurring to him. Yeah, Isak was pretty hot and yeah, maybe Even had looked forward to nothing else ever since he walked out of the auditorium yesterday, but he actually had no confirmation that Isak really wanted Even himself here. This was the only time Isak got to practice on the piano, and here Even was, barging in on his time—

“I’m sorry,” he blurted.

“What?”

“I’m—God, I’ve been so rude. I’m sorry. I know that you probably want to be alone to practice and stuff, I know you probably don’t want me distracting you.”

“You’re not distracting me?”

“I am, though. But—listen, I meant what I said yesterday! You really do deserve to be allowed to play, since I’m from SAYO I’ll definitely vouch for you if anyone says you’re playing without permission, I swear. But I don’t want to take up the time that you get to play, so I’ll just go—” Even made a move to stand.

“No, no, wait—” Isak’s hand was on Even’s arm lightning fast. They both stared at it for a split-second before Isak let go of Even’s arm just as fast as he’d grabbed it. Even stared mournfully at the place where Isak had touched him for a moment longer than necessary.

“You should stay,” Isak said. “And you’re _not_ a distraction, it’s fun hanging out with you.”

Even was so taken aback by this revelation that he didn’t say anything for a moment, but it seemed to strike wrongly with Isak, who immediately backtracked: “I mean unless uh, or, if—if you have to or want to go, then it’s fine, because then you should definitely go—”

“I don’t want to go,” Even said. Even couldn’t believing what he was hearing. Was Isak seriously implying that _Even_ wanted to leave?

“No?”

Even blinked at Isak for a moment. “No!” he said, huffing out a laugh of his own at the irony of it all as he sat back down. Isak thought _Even_ wanted to leave? Even couldn’t even begin to comprehend how _anyone_ would ever want that.

Isak laughed a little nervously. He looked relieved. “Well then, you should stay,” he said, and then cocked his head at the pitch black space in front of the stage. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to when I’m here. It gets creepy when I’m here on my own. I swear I’m always hearing these noises coming from the audience seating even though there’s no one there.”

“That is creepy,” Even agreed with a hollow laugh, feeling his heartbeat increase a bit. So apparently he hadn’t been as inconspicuous those last few days spying on Isak as he’d originally thought. “So,” he said quickly, needing to change the subject before this particular conversation went any further. “What would you be playing if I wasn’t here?” He did want to spend time with Isak, but not at the cost of Isak losing practice time. “I meant what I said, I don’t want to be a distraction if this is the only time you get to play.”

Isak hummed, something like a smirk forming on his lips. “Probably something you’d fall asleep to.”

“What, like…” Even racked his head for classical composers that he knew off the top of his head. His inventory was alarmingly blank. “Like Mozart?”

“Yeah, Mozart would _definitely_ put you to sleep.”

“Excuse me—I feel like you don’t have much faith in my musical stamina.”

“Why, _do_ you listen to Mozart?”

“Well, you know. Gotta have something to get me fired up at the gym.”

That earned a laugh out of Isak, a surprisingly genuine, booming one that echoed throughout the vast space around them.

Even grinned back at him, feeling a little like he’d just won the lottery.

“So…” Even raised his eyebrows. “ _Do_ you happen know any Mozart off the top of your head?”

 

**♪ FRIDAY ♪**

Even walked in on Friday armed with what was now becoming regular: a tea for him and an iced coffee for Isak (who had _claimed_ he was perfectly fine with just hot coffee, but Even knew that he liked iced coffee even more and he deemed the extra few kroner were absolutely worth the pleasantly surprised smile on Isak’s face every time).

The last couple days had gone by in a blissful blur. Even had never before looked so forward to going to work as he did now. In fact, he couldn’t remember looking forward to anything as much as he did his few hours that he got with Isak after his SAYO shift in a long, long time. They usually both wound up at the piano—with either Isak playing away at songs he’d composed himself or random songs that Even requested, Even flirting with an intensity enough for the entire Nordic population, or the both of them goofing off. Usually, it wound up being a chaotic combination of the three.

Either way though, Even was most certainly laughing and smiling more than he had in ages.

It seemed a little bit like it was all too good to come true. Initially there had been the idealistic Snapback Boy that he’d unconsciously built Isak to be in the days before meeting him. And Even knew that one of the reasons he’d initially been so afraid to meet Isak in real life was because he was scared of what would have happened if Isak didn’t live up that perfect ideal. So when he had walked onto stage and introduced himself that first day, he had braced himself for the worst.

What he _hadn’t_ been prepared for though, was Isak being even better than any type of dream-guy Even could have managed to conjure in his wildest dreams. And maybe Even wasn’t thinking straight. Maybe he should be a little concerned by how fast he was falling, and maybe his feelings were getting a little out of hand for someone he had only known for a handful of days. But at this point he was so far gone on cloud nine he hardly even _wanted_ to give a second thought about it. Why should he, anyway? If the few precious hours he got after his SAYO shift before Isak’s class had the ability to make him this happy?

“Hi,” Even called out as he walked in on Friday, holding out Isak’s iced coffee. “What’s up?”

Isak turned towards Even from his seat on the bench, grinning. “Hey.” Taking his drink, he immediately slid over to make room for Even.

“You know, this really isn’t fair,” Isak said, frowning at the drink in his hand while Even got settled. “You’ve got to at least let me pay you back or something.”

Even waved his hand. “It’s fine. The cafés here have this thing where you get a free coffee with every tenth drink you buy, anyway.”

Isak didn’t look convinced, but he took another sip regardless.

“Oh! Did you see Finn and Morgan today, by the way?” Even asked, his excitement making his tongue run faster than his mind. Realizing his mistake, he fumbled to fix it. “I mean, you know—they’re in the class that you help Jonas out with, right?” Even _knew_ that they were, but technically he wasn’t supposed to.

But Isak didn’t even notice. “Yeah!” he said, huffing out a disbelieving laugh. “What the fuck, where did _that_ come from?”

“I have no idea! All I know is that they’ve never even talked to one another as far as I’ve seen, and then suddenly they walk in this morning and they’re _together_.”

“They’re ten, though?!”

“I know. They work fast, I’ll give them that.”

“I wonder how it happened, if not at camp?” Isak mused. “Do you think they’re neighbors? It’s not like they have phones yet or whatever, right?”

“Social media, maybe?”

“For a ten year old? Jeez, I hope not.”

“Yeah, but _everyone_ has social media these days,” Even pointed out. “Some people even make them for their pets.”

Isak shook his head. “I’ve seen those. It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Even laughed. “I think they’re sweet, actually.”

Isak opened his mouth as if to say something and then hesitated a little, running his tongue over his bottom lip once. Even tried not to stare. “Actually,” he started, “I was wondering—are _you_ online?”

This gave Even pause. “Am I online?”

“Yeah, so…I was trying to find you online?” Isak stared very intently at the lid on his drink. “Like just Instagram, or Facebook, whatever, the usual. Just to—you know. I was gonna send you that song you were asking about yesterday. But I couldn’t find you? I checked most places.”

Even felt a thrill go down his spine. “You stalked me?” He teased.

Isak’s expression looked arrested. Even wondered if it was too early to tease him about that. Shit.

“I mean I just…I realized I never had your number and stuff,” Isak said. “But it’s okay, I can just—“

“You can have it, it’s yours,” Even blurted, all too quickly.

“Oh.” Isak blinked at him in surprise. “Uh, thanks.”

Before the air between them got even more awkward, Isak dived for the phone in his pocket. Opening it up to the right screen, he handed it to Even. “Here, put your number in. I’ll text you.”

Isak gave him one of his small smiles, the ones that always made Even’s mind go completely blank for a moment. He took Isak’s phone and started putting his number in, and Even was suddenly extremely aware of the situation he was in.

Isak was sitting less than a few inches away from him, and Even was putting _his_ number into Isak’s phone, while Isak sipped on the drink that Even bought him. And the next few hours were theirs, and theirs alone.

So maybe it wasn’t technically a date in a traditional sense, but it was close enough. At least, Even could pretend it was.

“So,” Even said when he handed Isak back his phone, “What’ve you got for me today? More music from the old guys? Or your own stuff?”

Isak looked a little disturbed at Even’s nickname for the classical musicians, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead he shook his head wryly and said, “At the rate we’re going, I’ll be out of originals by next week.”

“That’s okay. You can just write more, right?”

“Yeah, I guess…but I haven’t written any new ones recently, though.”

 “Oh,” Even said, noting how uneasy Isak suddenly looked. “Why not?” He wondered if asking that was pushing too far. They’d only known one another for a few days now, after all.

Isak shrugged, shifting in his seat. “I don’t know. Just…no inspiration, I guess? Or I mean—sometimes I’ll sit down and try and start something, but it just wouldn’t sound right, so I’d scrap it. And the stuff I _am_ working on is taking me ages. I used to have a lot more patience with this kind of thing back in the day, but…” he trailed off, and for a moment he looked so sad and lost that Even had to dig the nails of his left hand into his palm to keep from physically reaching out to him.

“But you like playing, right?”

Isak nodded. “More than anything. Which is why it sucks. I feel like I’ve hit a wall, so really it’s been more frustrating to play these days than it’s been an escape.”

“That’s natural, though,” Even reassured. “It’s just like writer’s block. I used to get it all the time for my films, but it always eventually passed. Besides, all artists go through it at one point.” He smiled and bumped his knee against Isak’s. “Even the amazingly talented prodigies and Mozarts’.”

Isak finally smiled again at that. “You know, I’m _really_ not as good as you think I am.”

“No, you’re right. You’re probably better.”

Isak rolled his eyes, but he grinned down at the keys. The fingers of his hand that wasn’t holding the coffee drifted across the keys a few times, playing random notes and bits and pieces of misplaced melodies. “But you know, I never felt frustrated playing when I’m with you,” Isak admitted quietly after a moment. “This has been the most fun playing I’ve had in a while.”

Even’s heart was threatening to beat out of his chest and right out onto the keys, but he forced himself to place an easygoing smile on his face instead. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Even’s knee remained resting against Isak’s for the rest of the evening.

♬

Three hours later found Even still sitting beside Isak on the piano, although maybe an inch or two closer now. His tea and Isak’s coffee were long gone, discarded for now under their piano bench. Isak was playing a piece of his that Even had never heard before. He had taken to bringing in more and more of his original pieces to play for Even over the last few days, and nothing had made Even feel more special than knowing that Isak felt comfortable enough sharing his original works with him. Even himself knew how unnerving that could be, especially when it came to showing others his films. Somehow, it was always more terrifying to show them to friends and family than it was to show them to teachers or strangers.

The sheet music for the piece Isak was playing was scattered across the music stand, but just as usual when it came to his own compositions, Isak hardly looked at it. He was fully immersed in the music he was playing, attention solely on the black and white keys. This though, gave Even all the liberty he needed to freely observe Isak without shame.

Even decided that out of all the places one could watch Isak perform, this was his favorite: right beside him. Right beside him, where Even could turn his head and pretend to watch Isak play when really, he was more or less just admiring Isak’s profile. Because Isak had a _very_ nice profile. The kind of profile that Even would draw, again and again.

Now that he was finally close enough to see Isak’s face clearly rather than from the back of the auditorium fifty feet away, he was practically overwhelmed with how good Isak actually looked. Even always found Isak hot, but this…seeing Isak up close had amplified everything by a factor of ten.

His hair looked softer; Even could now fully appreciate how it was curly on some days and just wavy on others, how it had looked blonde under the lights from far away, but was actually more of a sandy color up close. Even could now fully appreciate his eyes, which were a different shade of green under different lightings—a different shade of paint for each one; sometimes pine green, sometimes sea green, sometimes forest green. Even could now also fully appreciate the way Isak’s lips quirked up at the corners sometimes when he played, just barely, and how it made not one, but _two_ dimples in his cheek.

It was when Even got to looking at Isak’s lips though, that he was usually consumed with the overwhelming and uncontrollable need to just—he wasn’t even sure _what_ he sought after at this point—but to more or less just run his hands all over Isak’s face and hair and just kiss him senseless. And it was usually at this point that Even would usually decide that it was probably best for his own self-control (and Isak’s well-being) to forcefully redirect his attention back to Isak’s fluctuating fingers, where they should have been focused on in the first place.

Not that that helped very much.

Even could almost imagine it in a film—the alternate angles shifting between shots of Isak’s fingers to close-ups of his profile as the music played over the scene, the camera seemingly having just as much trouble as Even did when it came to deciding where to focus on.

It was after Isak had finished the piece and they had drifted into conversation about some topic or another, that Even had reached into his pocket for his phone to show Isak something that his eyes drifted over to the time and—

“Oh, fuck—“ Even looked at Isak with wide eyes. “It’s 18:34, don’t you have class?”

Isak though, didn’t look worried at all. “No class on Fridays, actually,” he said, looking amused. “It’s just every Monday to Thursday for six weeks.”

“Oh,” Even said, blinking in surprise. “That’s nice.” Even was reeling. At least before, Even could say that Isak simply hung out with Even in the hours between Jonas’ music class and his summer class as a way to kill time, but he hadn’t even _had_ class today, which meant he was here completely out of his free will. Which meant…

Even’s stomach rumbled into the silence, surprising them both.

“But I think that it’s best we head out anyway though,” Isak said, laughing. “It _is_ getting close to dinner time.”

Even smiled back, although it felt a little strained. How could his stomach betray him at a time like this, when he finally got to spend time with Isak without a time constraint?

Isak was standing, gathering all the music off the stand and into his backpack when the idea hit Even. It was almost time for dinner, Isak had just said so himself. And if Even were to just…casually invite him to grab dinner together, then would Isak say yes?

Even stood up. His heart was thundering in his chest as Isak slung his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed their empty cups, chatting away about one thing or another but Even could barely hear him, his heartbeat was so loud in his ears.

What if Isak said no?

What if he realized how Even felt about him?

What if he didn’t even _like_ Even back in the way Even liked him?

What if he saw right through Even and realized the massive crush he harbored for Isak, and then realized he didn’t like Even back that way and _then_ said no?

“Even?”

Even blinked back to reality to find Isak looking at him with a strange expression. They were standing outside the building, in front of the parking lot—how had they gotten here so fast?

“What? I’m sorry, I zoned out.”

Isak smiled a little. “How hungry are you?” he teased. “I was just saying that I’m this way,” he pointed in the direction to the left of the parking lot, where there was a bus stop.

“Oh,” Even said, feeling completely tongue-tied. He had to ask him. Why couldn’t he bring himself to just ask him? It wasn’t like it had to be a formal date or anything, it could just be two friends grabbing dinner together—

“So…” Isak said, and Even realized that he’d just stared at Isak wordlessly for a good five seconds. “So, see you next week?”

 _Just ask him_ , Even thought. What was wrong with him?

“Yeah,” Even said eventually, resigned. “Yeah, of course. See you next week.”

Isak smiled and turned around, waving. “Have a good weekend,” he called as he walked away.

And it was that image that did it—of Isak walking away. Even _knew_ that he was going to see him next week, but he felt like he had failed at something somehow, and just as Isak was about to turn the corner, a burst of blind courage surged through Even’s system.

“And don’t forget to text me about that song!” he shouted.

Isak was a small figure in the distance by this point but Even could tell he was grinning when he turned back. Isak lifted his hand into what looked like a thumbs up.

Even sighed a little in relief, satisfied for now. He would have this at least, to hold him over for the weekend. When he finally got to his car and got in, he sat in silence for a good five minutes before making a decision.

Next Friday he would ask Isak out to dinner, he thought determinedly.

Next Friday for _sure_.


	3. ♫ Week 3 ♫

**♪ SUNDAY ♪**

Isak didn’t text him Friday night. Nor had he texted him all of Saturday, or Sunday morning.

Come Sunday evening, Even was pretty sure he had endured all five stages of grief: there was the denial at first, because maybe Isak was just busy. Maybe he had gone out on Friday night and woken up late Saturday morning and just hadn’t gotten around to texting Even, which was fine, Even could understand that. He had to remind himself that it was normal for other people to have lives that didn’t singularly revolve around a crush.

Next came the anger, at himself— _how_ could he have let Isak get away with his number without asking for Isak’s in return? Why hadn’t he thought to ask for Isak’s? He could have avoided this whole situation had he just sucked it up and asked for Isak’s number in return.

Or had he just asked Isak out to dinner when he’d had the _perfect_ opportunity.

And the more he thought about that, the more he slipped into the next stage—of despair and sadness. For all he knew, Isak may not have even been single. He hadn’t gotten around to asking that particular question yet, probably because Even was scared of what the answer would be. What if Isak wasn’t into Even like Even was into Isak? Even had certainly had experience with that sort of situation in the past and he wasn’t eager for a repeat. What if Isak was just being friendly with him so that he could use the piano?

At some point by Sunday morning, Even had finally moved onto acceptance. So maybe Isak would never reciprocate his feelings—it was fine, really, so as long as Even got to spend a few more weeks with his smile and his playing and his laughter. It was a small price to pay to get that expansive, happy feeling in his chest whenever he was with him.

And by Sunday afternoon Even had just accepted that Isak probably wasn’t going to text him at all—and he didn’t even mind, it was okay because he could just use it as a conversation starter on Monday, he had no right to expect anything from Isak at all, anyway—when his phone buzzed from across the kitchen Sunday evening.

He glanced up from where he was standing at the stove to look at his mother, who was standing closer to his phone on the dining table. It was a testament to his lack of faith when he asked her, “Can you check who that is?”

His mother had been focused on the magazine recipe she had been flipping through on the dining table. She glanced at his phone for a split second before returning her attention back to the magazine. “There’s no contact name, just a number,” she said absently, turning another page. “I don’t like how much butter this recipe is using,” she added with a huff.

Even nearly dropped the spoon he was using to stir. He whipped around. “Unknown number?”

“We should be fine if we don’t use all that butter,” his mother said as response, speaking more to her magazine than him. “It shouldn’t change the taste all that much. I’ve made it this long without high cholesterol, I’m not starting now.”

As his mother continued to reason with herself, Even tried to act perfectly calm as he crossed the kitchen to the other side where his mom and his phone sat. He shouldn’t— _couldn’t_ get his hopes up, he wasn’t supposed to expect anything.

But there was no denying the way his heart rate spiked up as he made his way over. He picked up his phone almost gingerly, unlocking it and opening up the message.

Even blinked at his phone in confusion for a moment. He wanted to believe that it was Isak texting him, but the texts didn’t make any sense. Why would it take Isak forever to find him? What did that mean?

But before Even could come up with a confused response, another text popped up, in the form of a picture. It was a screenshot of a contact ID. Of _his_ contact ID, he realized after a moment, noting the phone number displayed right there in the middle. But at the top—he felt a jolt go through him—the name of the contact read: **RVEN**

Before he could process this, another text quickly followed the picture:

A multitude of emotions surged through Even at once, the strongest of which being exasperation with himself. He wanted to bang his head against a wall—of _course_ he’d managed to misspell his name in his excitement of getting to put his number into Isak’s phone. It was exactly the kind of thing he’d manage to do when presented with the perfect opportunity of having the chance to text Isak all weekend. And then there was the fact that Isak had given up his own time looking through his contacts _just_ to find Even’s name.

An exasperatedly fond smile spread over Even’s face at how Isak felt the need to add “from SAYO”, as if Even wouldn’t have immediately known who he was. As if he hadn’t been consumed with thoughts of him his every waking minute the last couple weeks.

He quickly added Isak to his contacts and then quickly reopened their conversation again. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard restlessly, trying to come up with a reply.

He sent it and hesitated for a moment—now what? But thankfully, Isak saved him from coming up with the next text.

_Now_ it was, Even thought. He could feel a slow grin forming over his face. And just like that, everything that he had convinced himself of this weekend, all the hopes and feelings that he had tried to squash down to protect himself from disappointment—it had all vanished in an instant. He was right back to the level of hopeless love he had begun with.

He was beginning to word out a reply when a voice cut through his thoughts.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here.”

Even’s head snapped up to find his mother standing at the stove, an eyebrow raised. He stared at her for a moment in surprise. If he was perfectly honest he’d forgotten she was even there. “What?”

“I was just saying, that it’s a good thing I’m here.” His mom gestured at the sauce he’d been stirring earlier. “This could have started to burn and you would have just stood there smiling at your phone as the entire house burned down.”

 _She’s not wrong_ , he thought. “Uh, sorry,” he said, shooting her a sheepish smile before glancing back down at his phone for a split second. “I was…texting someone.”

“I can see that,” she hummed. She gave him a curious look. “Do I know this someone?”

“No. I, uh—met him at work.”

She examined him for a moment longer before turning back to the stove with a knowing smile. “So how long will it be until I meet this someone?”

He could feel his face heating up. How was it she could always see right through him? He hadn’t even _said_ anything this time. “You’ll be the first to know as soon as I find out,” he finally got out. He glanced back down at his phone—he still hadn’t answered Isak. “Uh, can I—?”

“Go, go, keep me in the dark, see if I care.” She rolled her eyes and shooed him away with her ladle.

“Thank you, thank you—"

She hummed. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

He grinned and kissed her on the cheek as he tried not to run out of the kitchen, fingers already typing out a reply to Isak.

 

**♪ MONDAY ♪**

When the last of the kids from his 11am class had finally shuffled out, Even was getting angsty from not having checked his phone. He had never been one to call himself addicted to technology, but that had been before he and Isak had texted steadily all through last night _and_ this morning. All of his three classes were in the morning, one at every hour from 9 to 11, and he had never before struggled so much with not completely abandoning his professionality and checking his phone every time it buzzed in his pocket. So far he’d managed to shoot off a quick text back in the little time space during the transition periods between classes, but the last text Isak had sent him was over thirty minutes ago, and Even was itching to text back.

Ensuring that they were all gone, Even slipped out his phone and glanced at the time—he had five minutes before he was due at the cafeteria to watch over the kids for lunch— before opening up his messages.

Even bit his lip and tried in vain to hold back a smile. It was incredible, really, how easy it was to text Isak once he’d gotten over his initial apprehension about it. It was no different from talking to him in person: the conversations came easily and they never felt forced. Isak was _nice_ to talk to.

Isak’s reply came almost immediately. Even didn’t want to think about what that did to his heartbeat.

Even’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to decide what to say next. He was already a minute late to lunch now, but he made no move to leave the classroom. He only hoped that Sonja wouldn’t notice, and if she did—he hoped that she’d remember that he was on time every other day before. Before he could form his own text though, a new message came through.

Even swallowed, and then pressed his forehead against the cool glass on the door, trying to get a handle on the giddy emotion swelling up inside of him.

No, he _definitely_ wasn’t getting out of this in one piece.

 

**♪ WEDNESDAY ♪**

The next day after work found Even sprawled across the ground of the stage floor on his stomach, his laptop open in front of him. Beside it, a cup of tea from the café a floor above them (courtesy of Isak for the second day in a row, who was stubbornly determined to make up for all the drinks Even had bought him). The kids at camp were all supposed to have made roughly a quarter of progress into the short films they were each working on, and Even was supposed to have feedback to give to them by Wednesday. Typically he wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but then Sonja informed him that she was thinking about hosting a performance night to showcase all the art the kids had been working on to their parents—and for the parents to meet the instructors. The idea of having to meet the parents and explain the kinds of critique and teaching he’d been giving to ten year-olds was enough to spur a panic in Even that had him working during his off-hours as he was now, re-watching what each child had so far and trying to come up with some substantial feedback.

To his side sat Isak, his back to Even as he practiced (though _abused_ would be a better word for it) an original composition of his that he seemed to be trying to perfect. Even could tell Isak was getting increasingly frustrated with it. He had yet to play the entire piece straight through. Instead he kept stopping at random points, would replay that short section, scribble something on his sheet music with a pencil, then play that same section through maybe five, ten, twenty more times (all of which sounded exactly the same to Even) until Isak stopped again cross out what he’d initially written. He’d then replay the piece from the beginning, and then the process would repeat itself all over again with a new section Isak didn’t like. After an hour or so of this though, Isak’s huffs of frustration and the fluent stream of muttered curse words under his breath had both gotten significantly louder, and he seemed to be pressing his fingers into the piano with a little more force than seemed necessary, so Even decided it was time to mediate.

“I think,” he said, plopping down on the bench beside Isak. “That it’s time for a break.”

Isak turned to him and blinked at him in surprise, the furrow between his brows fading. “A break?”

Even nodded, tilting his head at the messy notebook-paper-sheet-music that lined the music stand. “You looked a little stressed.”

“Oh,” Isak said, suddenly sheepish. “Yeah, sorry. I just…I couldn’t get it to sound like I wanted it to.”

Even gazed at the little music notes and symbols on the sheet music thoughtfully like they made sense to him. “What _do_ you want it to sound like?”

“I don’t know,” Isak said, looking frustrated again.

And that was the exact opposite emotion Even wanted to make Isak feel, so he tried for another direction. “Then I think a break is exactly what you need. Maybe you’re overthinking it.” He leaned in and bumped Isak’s shoulder. “Come on, play something fun instead.”

“Something fun,” Isak echoed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He smiled at Even and raised his fingers back up, the pads of his fingers lightly grazing the keys. “What, like you want me to play ragtime again?”

Even grinned, knowing that Isak was remembering their first day together. But he shook his head. “No, not ragtime, more like…” Even thought for a few moments. “Or, I guess you could play that. But I was thinking more along the lines of like…more modern, you know?”

“Modern?”

“Yeah, like…fun.” and then it hit him, and he grinned. “Like you know—like Gabrielle.”

Isak blinked at him. “Gabrielle?”

“Yeah, Gabrielle.”

“Gabrielle,” Isak repeated, his voice flat.

“You know who she is, right? Come on. That one song of hers has been playing on the radio like for the last three _months_ —”

“I know who she is,” Isak said, “I just can’t believe that you’re asking me to play fucking _Gabrielle_ —”

“What’s wrong with Gabrielle?!”

“Her music is trash.”

“Trash?” Even asked, bewildered. “Isn’t it topping the charts?”

“You actually _like_ her music?”

“It’s catchy!” Even defended, and when Isak rolled his eyes he said, “I’m sorry, we can’t all be prodigious piano-playing music elitists with pretentious music tastes—”

Isak was laughing now. “Prodigious—what now?”

“You know, most of us normal people listen to normal, modern music.”

“I listen to normal music!”

“Gabrielle _is_ normal music!”

Isak shook his head in incredulity.

“Okay then, what kind of not-Gabrielle-normal music do you listen to, then?” Even asked.

This seemed to have Isak stumped for a second. “Like—you know. Good music.”

“Right,” Even said dryly. “Like that Chacka-whatever guy—”

“Tchaikovsky?” Isak started laughing again, and then so was Even, and _there it was_ —that giddy feeling Even always got in his chest when he was with Isak, swelling and expanding until it felt like his lungs would explode from the feeling.

He loved it.

“I do listen to normal music though,” Isak finally mumbled when their laughter had subsided.

Even smirked. “Mhm.”

“I do! It’s just not shitty pop music. Like…more like, nineties hip-hop. And stuff.”

“Nineties hip-hop? Wow.” Even hummed his approval. “I don’t know if I should be surprised or not.” Internally though, Even felt another wave of helplessness surge through him. He felt like he had just taken another step into the deep end. Isak could play the piano, knew century-old classics, _and_ listened to 90’s hip-hop? How was Even _not_ supposed to fall for this kind of stuff?

“Well, I know _I’m_ surprised about you liking Gabrielle,” Isak mumbled, giving a mocking sigh. “I don’t think we can hang out anymore.”

“It’s too late,” Even said. “You’re stuck with me and my—what was it?—my _trash_ music tastes forever now.” He hoped he didn’t make that sound as desperate as he felt. “Besides, one day I know I can get you to play Gabrielle. Then we’ll talk.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time then,” Isak said, raising his eyebrows in challenge. “I would rather never play again.”

Even gaped at him, trying to gauge how serious Isak was being. “All this hate, and just for a Gabrielle song?”

“It’s not hate! I just…have better taste than that.”

Even snorted. “Okay Mr. Nineties-Hip-Hop-With-Better-Taste, who do you listen to, then?”

Isak was quiet for a moment. “You ever hear of NWA?”

Even actually had, in fact. “That’s your better music taste?” He joked. “Aren’t they the ones with that whole _we don’t care, fuck everything_ rebellious thing?”

Isak nodded, smirking. “That’s what makes them great.”

“Wow,” Even said dryly, grinning.

“They’re good! They get you pumped up.”

“Okay, okay. How about this: do you at least like NAS?”

“NAS,” Isak repeated, his face blank. “NAS. Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“Oh my god, you don’t know NAS.”

“I probably have! I just—if I hear a song of theirs then I’ll probably know—”

“Incredible,” Even said, turning his head to speak out into the empty auditorium. “He claims better music taste and a love for the nineties hip hop and he doesn’t know NAS.”

“I’ve probably heard of them!”

“Right, right.”

“Shut up,” Isak mumbled, cracking up when he saw Even’s face. “Besides, I—”He cut off, distracted by his phone buzzing in his pocket. “Fuck, got to go to class,” Isak sighed.

Even hummed, feeling the little prickle of sadness that he always did when Isak had to leave for class. “Got a quiz or test today?”

“Not today, no,” Isak said, standing up and gathering his things. He glanced at Even. “Why?”

“Because,” Even swung his leg over the piano bench to face Isak. “I have homework for _you_ today. It’s my turn to send you some music.”

“Is it now?” Isak said in amusement, swinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“It is,” Even said. “You have to go listen to NAS tonight.”

Isak laughed, and Even wondered if he’d ever not get this feeling in his chest when Isak did.

“Okay,” Isak said, walking backwards and giving Even a salute. “I’ll listen to whatever you want. Text them to me.”

“I will.”

The door hadn’t even fully shut before Even had started looking up the first song to send him.

 

**♪ THURSDAY ♪**

“What are you working on?”

Even startled a little at how close Isak’s voice sounded to his ear. Turning his head he saw that Isak was crouching down behind him, peering at his laptop screen. Even been so focused on reviewing the parts of the films his students had made that he hadn’t even noticed Isak had stopped playing.

“I’m having all of the students make a film of their own,” Even explained. “Want to see?”

“Yeah, sure.” Isak settled down on the ground beside him. Even felt his heart rate spike as Isak’s knee pressed into Even’s own leg as he leaned to look down at the laptop, but Isak didn’t even seem to notice what he was doing. Even pulled up the list of student films and selected one at random, playing it for him. But the films _were_ films made by ten year-olds, so they tended to be more amusing than they were moving or gut-wrenching. Even tried to point out certain things that he’d taught them when he could, like point of view and setting and color and camera angles, and Isak listened to it all attentively, like he was a student nodding along to a lecture.

“It looks really fun,” Isak said, laughing as the current film playing on the screen took a drastic zoom-in of an ant in three different successions of color: black and white, red, and then blue. “This is pretty cool.”

“Yeah, it’s fun and all,” Even agreed. “Except Sonja told me the other day that there’s going to be some kind of showcase at the end of the camp with all the parents where we display what the kids have been learning, so now there’s a little more pressure.”

“Oh yeah, Jonas was stressing about that earlier, too,” Isak said. “He doesn’t really know what to have them do for that, since he’s only teaching them piano. He was going to have them compose something of their own, but it’s not going as well as he hoped.” Isak chuckled.

“But you must be amazing help with that,” Even pointed out. “With you and your genius-Mozart-composing-skills?”

Isak rolled his eyes but he was smiling. “But even I can only help so much. They are only ten, after all, and—” Isak abruptly blinked, his mouth opening a little. “Unless,” he mused. “Unless, what if Jonas had them write music for their films with you? If they wanted to?”

“Like a soundtrack?”

“Yeah!” Isak sat up a little, animated. “Like, the biggest issue that we have with the kids is that their compositions are kind of really random—no theme, or goal or anything, you know? So if we could get some of them to apply it to their films, it might give them some direction.”

Even began to smile. This boy really _was_ a genius. “Like music-film combo project?”

“Yeah, yeah, exactly!”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Even mused. “ _Especially_ because it takes a lot of the direct pressure off of me and Jonas.” He grinned. “This may actually work out.”

Isak laughed. “I’ll talk to Jonas about it tomorrow. And then when you show their films at the showcase, just tell the parents that they directed and filmed and shot their own movies and made their own compositions to go with them. The parents will be _so_ impressed. You’ll have to tell me how it goes.”

Even frowned. “Won’t you be at the showcase too?”

“I don’t think I can,” Isak said, looking a little alarmed. “Besides, I don’t even officially work here, I only help out Jonas sometimes…”

“You help him out every day!”

“But just for one class,” Isak mumbled. “And its not even all that official. The director doesn’t technically know I exist.”

“But you deserve to go,” Even pressed. “Just as much as all the other instructors.”

Isak blinked at him for a moment, looking startled but touched. “Thanks,” he said, his voice sincere.

A brief silence fell, and Even felt his face grow a little hot as he realized he’d spoken with much more passion than need be. He cleared his throat. “But I could, um, talk to Sonja, if you wanted,” he offered quickly. “And talk about compensation or something.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Isak waved the idea off. “I really don’t mind. I actually do enjoy helping out Jonas. I don’t get to play as much these days because of school and work and all that, and I don’t even have a piano at home anymore, so it’s nice to have this.”

“What happened to the piano you had at home?”

Isak shifted, and then gave a noncommittal shrug. “Don’t have it anymore.”

“Did it break, or something?”

“It’s just gone now,” Isak said, a sharp edge to his voice. Even froze.

There was a tense moment of silence.

“I’m sorry,” Even blurted. “I didn’t mean to be nosy, or—”

“No, no,” Isak was shaking his head, looking sheepish. “You didn’t do anything wrong. _I’m_ sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Isak gave a nervous laugh. “It’s just a…complicated situation.”

When Even still didn’t say anything Isak sat up a little straighter, reforming his features into an easy smile, and Even could tell he was trying to bring the lightness of the earlier atmosphere back. “But that’s why I really enjoy this, you know?” He gestured around the stage. “It’s nice to just play for fun and stuff. It’s what I missed the most. So, thank you for that.”

“I didn’t really do much, though,” Even said. “I feel like I distract you more than anything else.”

“You don’t distract me,” Isak said easily, leaning backwards until his was lying on his back.  “I like hanging out with you.”

Even busied himself with shifting his laptop to the side to hide the smile on his face, before leaning back to join Isak on the floor beside him.

“And,” Isak added lightly once Even had settled, “There’s also the added benefit that if I get caught using the piano, I have _you_ as my insurance.”

Even snorted. “I knew there was that underlying incentive.”

“But seriously,” Isak asked after a pause. “I’m not bothering _you_ , am I?”

“What?” Even turned to look at Isak, and was immediately distracted by how close their faces were, even though they lying shoulder to shoulder.

“I mean—you don’t have to come here just for me,” Isak said. “If you have other stuff to do or places to be, I don’t mind.”

Even looked back at him incredulously – Isak looked genuinely worried that this was something of a chore for Even, and Even felt like he could laugh. And all this time he’d been worrying if he was being _too_ obvious.

“I like hanging out with you too, you know.” He tried to sound as sincere as possible when he said it. Isak’s answering smile was so brilliant that Even felt his toes curl from how much he had to restrain from just kissing him, right then and there.

But he couldn’t. He had to do this _right_. There was too much at stake for that. Even had promised himself last week that he would take Isak on a date, but the idea was much simpler in theory than it was to actually carry out.

What if Isak said no? Then things would get awkward between them and as much as Even liked the idea of them dating, the idea of them not being friends was worse.

 

**FRIDAY**

It wasn’t until later the next night when he’d come home, filled to the brim with all the extra time he’d gotten to spend with Isak that day because he hadn’t had to go to class, that the idea hit Even.

He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t _that_ desperate.


	4. ♫ Week 4 ♫

**♪ MONDAY ♪**

 

The idea was pretty desperate.

Even knew it was. But as it was, he’d never let that stop him before.

He had tried pretending to know classical music in the beginning, but that hadn’t worked out at all like he’d intended. No, what he needed to do was use his utter lack of piano education he had to his advantage.

That Monday during their time together, Isak took his drink from Even with a suspicious look. “What’s with the smile?”

“Nothing, I just…” Even shrugged lightly, trying to keep his face in check as he slid onto the bench beside him. “I had a question.”

“A question,” Isak mused, sipping his drink.

“It’s nothing all that bad,” Even said. “I was just wondering if you could teach me a song, or something.” The last few words tumbled out of his mouth faster than he’d rehearsed in his mind.

“A song?” Isak looked surprised. “I thought you didn’t play?”

“I don’t.” Even smirked. “That’s why I need your help.”

Isak blinked at him in surprise for a few moments, before giving a short laugh. “Okay. What do you want to learn?”

“Uh…” Even bought himself some time by taking a long sip out of his own drink–in his mind, this conversation hadn’t gone through as easily as it just had. “I don’t know, what should I learn?” He raised his eyebrows at Isak. “I thought that _you_ were the master at work here.”

Isak held his hands out in defense, laughing. “You said to teach you _a song, or something_. That’s a little vague.”

“Okay, okay.” Even thought for a moment, realizing that his so-called wonderful idea was much less thought through than he’d initially realized. “What would you teach to someone who’s just touched a piano for the first time?”

“Not a song,” Isak said, a rueful smile on his face. “Scales, probably. Chords. Learning the actual notes might help, too. You ever played a piano before?”

“Ages ago, when I was six. I took lessons for a bit.” Even frowned. “But I’ve forgotten everything since then. I can kind of read notes and all. I know they go from A to G. But that’s about as much as I know.”

Isak hummed. “That’s not a bad start. Here,” he gestured widely to the piano in front of them. “Okay: Show me where a C is.”

“What?” Even gaped at him, and had an alarming flashback of his old piano teacher pulling pop quizzes on him during their sessions. “No, no, no, I just said I _didn’t_ know shit about this.”

“Try though,” Isak encouraged, nodding at the piano. “It might come back to you. Find a C.”

“C,” Even repeated blankly, nodding as if he knew exactly what to do with that information. He stared down at the piano keys, straining to reach into his six year-old knowledge bank, but there was nothing there. Eventually he settled for just pressing one of the white keys at random. “C,” he said again, giving an apologetic smile.

Isak smiled. “Close, actually. That’s a B. C is the one to the right of it.”

Even moved his finger to the correct key and pressed down on it, feeling a spark in his memory as he did so. He moved back to the key Isak had called a B, and then moved one more key backwards. “A?” He asked. They went in order, didn’t they?

When Isak nodded in encouragement, Even went to the right and played all the white keys in a straight line from the A key, reading the note letters out loud as he played the corresponding key. When he got to G, he stopped and looked back up at Isak for approval, who was grinning at him.

“See? You _do_ know your stuff,” Isak said, and he looked so pleased that Even decided right then and there that he would go home and watch all the YouTube tutorials on piano lessons in the world if it would make Isak smile at him like that.

“Okay, here’s lesson one,” Isak said, mock seriousness dripping from his tone. “We’re gonna learn a chord. The easiest chord there is to play, a C chord. Ready?”

 

**♪ THURSDAY ♪**

By the time Thursday had rolled around, Even could say that his knowledge of the piano had significantly increased, and it was all thanks to Isak.

Isak was, by far, the most patient teacher Even had ever had. (Not to mention, the most attractive). Every time Even hit a wrong note or would hesitate or forget something, Isak would simply smile, nod his head and say “Keep going, you’re doing fine!”

And so Even did.

And if he played a wrong note or couldn’t remember something Isak had shown him the day before, Isak was never disappointed with him. Instead he’d gently tell Even where to place his fingers instead with a quiet laugh, or hint at the right answer until Even could get to it himself. It was such a stark contrast to Even’s experience with learning music as a kid, which was awful enough for him to swear off touching another piano for the rest of his life. Back then it had been more stressful than anything, with his piano teacher who scared him a little and scolded him whenever she could tell he wasn’t practicing (which was all the time). He hadn’t even realized how much it had shaped how he viewed the piano in general: stressful, strict, uptight, tedious, and boring.

But somehow, playing with Isak was anything but all of that. Playing with Isak was low-pressure, relaxing. Lighthearted and filled with jokes. Yeah, Even was messing up—and a lot _—_ but it was hard to get frustrated when it was so much _fun_. He even had a whole new list of new musical vocabulary and general knowledge that he was learning to utilize, like what an arpeggio was (“It’s kind of like playing a chord, but instead of playing all the keys at once you play it broken up, each one after the other”). He was also reviewing his basic note knowledge he’d learned years ago (“Four sixteenth notes make up two eighth notes which make up one quarter note”), or that the pedals on the piano did different things (“These two pedals on the right sustain a note, so they hold it out when you play it. The one on the left softens what you play”).

As interesting as these facts were, however, they did not stop Even from asking Isak when they were going to start learning actual music.

“Actual music?” Isak had repeated, looking amused. “Looking to play Copland already?”

“I don’t know who that is, but you know what I mean. We’ve only been playing chords and notes, I want to learn how to play…you know, _music_.”

“You’ve only been playing for three days,” Isak pointed out, laughing.

“I’m not asking for like, Mozart or something. Like, something simple. Like a nursery rhyme, even. But maybe something a little better than _Hot Cross Buns_.”

Isak thought for a moment. “I think I know something better,” he said, lips curling into a smile. “I can teach you one side of a duet.”

This gave Even pause. “A duet? Like, with you?”

“Yeah?” Isak said. “A duet is usually a two-person thing.”

“Yeah, but—” Even shook his head. “A duet with _you_!”

“What’s wrong with me?!”

“It’s not what’s wrong with _you_ , it’s what’s wrong with me–you’re professional-level good! How am I supposed to line up to that? I still say we start with simple nursery rhymes.”

Isak shook his head, laughing. “You’ll be fine, trust me. It’s the easier part, to this song called _Heart and Soul_. Ever heard of it?”

“Heart and Soul?”

“Mhm. You’ll probably recognize it. My part is for two hands, but you can play yours with just one. It’s really not hard at all,” he added when Even still didn’t look convinced. “And it’s like, the _Wonderwall_ for piano duets. It’s no stress.”

“But I think what passes as easy for you and what passes as easy for _me_ are on completely different scales.”

“It won’t be that hard,” Isak promised again. “We’ll take it easy.”

“Have you already forgotten my _Hot Cross Buns_ catastrophe from the first day?”

“It wasn’t that bad! I could tell what song it was, at least.”

Even snorted at that, and Isak positioned his hands at one end of the piano, motioning for Even to mimic him on the other side. “Here, just copy me.”

And that was how Even found himself fumbling through the first real melody he’d ever played. It was a tune he dimly recognized from somewhere, which helped in the general scheme of things, but he still hit a significant number of wrong notes along the way regardless. After nearly an hour of joking around and getting him to learn his part, Isak had deemed Even worthy enough to play it on his own. They decided to try it while Isak played his side of the duet: a bouncy, upbeat rhythm that required two hands to play. The lack of Isak playing his part along with him though, sent Even into a spiral of missing notes all over the place; he felt a little like a child that had unexpectedly lost their training wheels on their bike.

But even so, Isak never lost his patience. He simply grinned and laughed as he played his side of the duet, not even needing to pay attention to his own hands but choosing to watching Even’s stumbling fingers instead.

“I can’t do it,” Even complained after numerous rounds of this. “There’s that one high note I keep missing no matter what, and even if I _do_ get it then I can never get the next note and it all goes to shit.”

“It’s because you’re moving your whole hand,” Isak said. “Try just stretching out with your pinky instead.” He demonstrated on his side of the piano. Even tried to do the same, keeping his hand in place and just reaching out with his pinky, eliciting a barely heard note from the piano. He tried again, and once again the stretch of his fingers made it so that his pinky was only strong enough to pull the faintest _ting_ when played.

“My finger isn’t strong enough,” Even announced, defeated and tired now. “I can’t do it.”

Isak gave a quiet laugh, placing his own fingers back onto the piano. “See,” he said, “This is how your fingers are positioned when they play, but really,” he raised his wrist higher, “this is how you want to have them positioned. You want to use less of the pads of your fingers when you play, and more of the tips of your fingers. It gives you more control. Except your pinky and thumb—for those two, you want to use the sides of the fingers more.”

Even glanced at his fingers and raised the just the tips of his fingers until they rested on the keys. “Like this?” He frowned at it. It certainly didn’t _look_ right. He couldn’t ever remember a piano player with their hand positioned quite this uncomfortably.

Isak reached over. “No—here, try this. When I was a kid my piano teacher used to tell me to pretend I was holding an apple, or a ball in my hand. Here, she used to show me like this—”

And the next thing Even knew, Isak’s fingers were gently enclosing around Even’s wrist, and he tugged Even’s right hand off the piano. Too distracted to keep it there by the sudden warmth of Isak’s fingers on his skin, Even’s other hand fell slack off the keys and onto his lap. It felt like a million nerve endings had somehow just generated all over his wrist and hands, and he was suddenly _very_ aware of the feel of Isak’s skin against his.

Isak formed the fingers of his left hand into a fist. With the right hand he still had holding Even’s wrist, he guided Even’s hand forward until Even was wrapping his fingers around Isak’s fist. Suddenly Even had difficulty breathing, and he vaguely thought in the back of his mind that it couldn’t possibly be healthy to be responding this strongly towards someone he had a crush on.

“Right,” Isak said. “So when I remove my hand, you want to keep this position your hand is in, and…” And now Isak was gazing at their touching hands as well, and he looked like he had momentarily forgotten what he was going to say.

Even dimly noted that this was probably the most physical contact they’d ever had over the course of their relationship. If Isak unraveled his fingers from his fist, then they would be almost holding hands. That thought in itself sent a million nervous butterflies from Even’s heart to his stomach. He wondered what it’d be like to hold Isak’s hand. To intertwine his fingers between the same skilled fingers that slid across the piano keys. A chance to hold the same fingers that could create such devastatingly beautiful music…Even almost felt like he didn’t deserve it.

Isak was the first to snap out of the trance that had fallen over them. He coughed a little and shifted awkwardly, making Even startle out of his trance as well, and he came to the realization that they had just stared at their touching hands in silence for quite a few seconds.

“Right, so…” Isak coughed again, and cleared his throat. “So, when I take my hand away, try and let your hand keep that shape when you play.”

Even’s mouth was dry. “Right.”

And then Isak was gently pulling his fist out from underneath Even’s curled fingers. Even kept the shape his fingers had formed like Isak had instructed, but his mind was buzzing, whirling with emotion and confusion. He let Isak guide his poised hand back to its place on the piano, although his touch was much more ginger now. The brief awkward silence that had fallen between them was getting to be to almost the point of it being unbearable when Isak finally cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said. Even looked up to find that he had reformed his features into an easy smile again. He was good at that. Isak placed his fingers back into position on his side of the piano. “Shall we have a go again?”

♬

It was only later that evening, when Even had been walking through his house and mourning the fact that another Friday was approaching and he _still_ hadn’t asked Isak out, when he stopped short in front of the piano in the drawing room. It was something that had sat in their house collecting dust for years upon years, a prized relic of his mother’s. He himself hadn’t really bothered to give it a second glance since it had been bought when had been six. But _now_ …

 _Now_ , he knew how he could get Isak to hang out with him outside of their little stage bubble. It wasn’t a date, exactly—but it was close enough.

 

**♪ FRIDAY ♪**

“So,” Even said, leaning on the grand. “You don’t have class Fridays, right?”

Isak’s gave him a questioning look from where he was sitting on the piano bench. “Yeah?”

“So I was thinking that then we don’t necessarily have to be _here_ today, right? So as long as we have a piano we’re still good?”

“I guess?” Isak’s brow furrowed, not following. “Why? Do you know any other pianos on campus or something?”

“I don’t know, but…” Even shrugged, raising his eyebrows. “I _might_ have a baby grand at my house that literally hasn’t been touched in years because no one knows how to play it. What do you say?”

Isak answering grin was answer enough.

♬

“Hello?” Even called out the minute they stepped into his house. No one responded, which meant that— _yes_ —his mother wasn’t home.

“This is a nice place,” Isak remarked as he walked in. “You have roommates?”

“Just me and my mom,” Even said, kicking off his shoes. “I was going to get an apartment for just me, but this house is already pretty close to everything and it’s easier for her this way to keep an eye on me with my—” he cut off abruptly. He had been about to say _my bipolar_ , but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to say it just yet. “—with my schoolwork and stuff,” he finished lamely. Isak however, hadn’t seemed to have noticed, preoccupied with looking at the pictures on the wall. Even pushed forward before he _did_ notice. “And it’s not too bad because she’s pretty good at letting me do my own thing. And I get meals and stuff, so that’s nice.”

“That’s sounds chill,” Isak said, glancing back at Even before looking back at the picture he had been looking at. “Is this you?”

Even walked forward quickly, a slight seed of dread in his stomach at the look of amusement on Isak’s face, which only grew with embarrassment as he saw what the photograph was. It was definitely him, alright. Him as a baby, lying on his stomach on a bed. He was toothlessly grinning at the camera, completely butt-naked except for a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose.

“Yeah,” he sighed as Isak laughed. “That would be me.”

“You’re so cute,” Isak said as he moved onto the next photo, and although Even knew that Isak hadn’t meant it in _that_ way, his heart skipped a beat nonetheless. Even followed Isak warily as he made his way through the photos on the wall, trying to remember if there were any other embarrassing pictures his mother had framed on there.

“Hey, I used to play too,” Isak said, pointing at photo of Even in his football jersey, a ball under his foot. “Do you still—?” Isak came to a halt at the entrance of their drawing room, his mouth halfway open. “Whoa,” he breathed, eyes widening as they fell on the piano that adorned the center of the room. “Is that an antique?”

“Yeah,” Even said, watching in amusement as Isak moved towards the piano as if in a trance. “It’s like, a century old, I think? My mom knew this old lady that was about to throw it out because it’s so old, so she got it practically for free.”

Isak bent over the cream-colored side panels of the piano, reaching out to let his fingers glide over the intricate gold swirls and watercolors imprinted on them. He kept his fingers there, lightly tracing the painted designs as he slowly walked around the piano. Even watched him, fascinated with the way Isak was so spellbound by the piano. The instrument had been a part of this room for so long that Even had just gotten so used to just seeing it as another background prop; another piece of pretty furniture to complete the vintage look of the room that his mom loved. But right now, watching the way Isak’s eyes were drinking in every chip and scratch and golden engraving on the baby grand, like the instrument was something to be treasured—or respected, even—and suddenly Even wondered why he’d ever given up playing piano in the first place.

Isak crouched in front of one of the small paintings that adorned the side panel, brushing his fingers over it. “I’ve only seen these kinds of antiques at museums and stuff,” he said, his voice soft and reverent. “And they wouldn’t let us touch those. And I’ve only heard someone play a century-old piano once. I can’t believe someone wanted to throw this out.”

“The reason my mom even got this was because that was when I’d just started piano lessons,” Even said, remembering the day his mother had excitedly come home with the piano in tow in a truck, to the bewilderment of his father. “You know how I told you how she’s this huge fan of classical music. So when I started taking lessons she brought this home thinking I’d be playing it all the time.” He laughed. “Little did she know though, that I’d give up in like, five months. I’m pretty sure I crushed her dreams.”

Isak laughed, and having examined it in full circle, moved to stand beside Even in front of the piano.

Even turned to Isak. “You know, we always called this room the music room. But no one’s played music in it for a long time.” He smiled at Isak and gestured to the seat. “Want to do the honors?”

Isak smiled and moved towards the seat, and Even followed. Unlike the piano bench on the stage however, this piano bench wasn’t made for two people to sit on, so Even found himself pressed up against Isak from shoulder to hip to thigh. Isak seemed to realize this at the same time Even did and when he turned his head to glance at Even, there was an intense moment when their eyes locked. Even could have _sworn_ he saw Isak’s eyes flicker down to his lips, but before Even could process or react, Isak had turned to face the piano again. Even tried in vain to do the same, but his proximity to Isak was insanely distracting. For a few moments all Even could focus on the heat of Isak’s body beside his, and how he could distinctly feel Isak’s leg move alongside his as he moved his foot to press one of the pedals.

Isak gently played a chord with his right hand (a C major chord, Even was pleased to be able to recognize—though it was really the only chord he knew). Isak’s eyebrows shot up immediately as the sound echoed through the air. “Whoa,” he laughed quietly in disbelief, “Uh, when was the last time you had this tuned?”

Even looked at him. “You have to tune pianos?”

Isak chuckled and nodded. He brought his other hand up and began playing a series of relaxing chords with both hands, chords that Even no longer knew the name of. “Mhm. Especially old ones like these. Moving a piano usually always gets it out of tune, but temperature changes and humidity and all that can mess it up, too.”

“No one’s touched this thing in about ten years,” Even laughed. “And I’m pretty sure it’s been through everything you just mentioned.”

“It’s okay,” Isak said. “Sometimes an out-of-tune piano actually sounds cooler than one that’s in tune.”

“If it’s out of tune, doesn’t it just sound bad? Like the notes all clash?”

“Not always. Here, listen,” Isak said, smoothly shifting from the simple chords he was playing into the somber arpeggios from [a song](https://youtu.be/5KO_qmZ3NF8?t=8s) Even recognized as one Isak had played for him last week. Even distinctly remembered this one. It was melancholy and wistful, but beautiful. Isak had played it for Even because it was one that he hadn’t composed himself, but one that was one of Isak’s favorites. He had mentioned that it was his one of his mother's favorites, that he used to play it for her when she'd had trouble falling asleep.

“See how it sounds different from the piano we have back at university?” Isak asked quietly.

Even listened intently. It took a few moments, but he could eventually hear it. The grand piano’s notes had been crisp and clean, but this piano’s notes echoed differently, and the slight off-pitch tone gave the music a different, warped feel to it. He'd always found the song soft and peaceful, but now there was almost a darker edge to it.

“Like, this song’s always been kind of sad,” Isak commented as he played. “But on an out-of-tune piano it almost sounds…” he trailed off, unable to find the right word.

“Haunting,” Even finished, understanding.

“Yeah.” Isak glanced at and Even and nodded. “Haunting,” he echoed.

Isak kept playing and neither of them said a word until the end of the piece, both of them completely entranced by the forlorn music. Even was rendered speechless. All those years an instrument like this—capable of making such gut-wrenching music—had been sitting in their house, collecting dust, with no one around to play it. It almost seemed like a crime.

Isak played the last note but left his foot on the pedal, letting the note echo for a bit. After a bit, he finally lifted his foot off the pedal, suddenly cloaking the room in silence and—

“Oh, my _God_.”

The both of them startled so hard at the unexpected voice that Isak nearly fell off his seat in alarm and Even’s hands jerked forward impulsively, slamming down on the keys and creating an awful, clashing sound in comparison to the beautiful piece Isak had just played. Even whipped around.

“Mom,” he said, bewildered. Had she been home this _whole_ time? “I didn’t think you were — where did you _come_ from?”

“The grocery store,” she answered Even breathlessly, but her wide eyes were fixated on Isak. She was standing at the threshold of the kitchen that led into the music room, what looked like a bag of groceries in one hand and a purse still slung over her other shoulder. A long stretch of silence fell in the room.

Beside him, Isak shot a panicked look at Even. Even realized that was his cue for introductions.

“Uh…mom, this is my friend, Isak. Isak—my mom.”

“Hi,” Isak said, suddenly on his feet and moving forward to shake his mother’s hand.

His mother shook it, her eyes still wide. “You were the one playing, just now?”

Isak sent another hasty, panicked look back at Even, like he’d been caught doing something wrong. “Yes?”

His mother laughed, placing a hand on her chest. “I… _wow._ When I walked in here, and I heard the music, I thought I’d walked into a dream. Oh, my God. Oh, my _God_!” She gave a breathless giggle, dropping the bag of groceries to grab one of Isak’s hands, holding them between hers. “Do you _know_ how long I’ve been waiting to hear someone finally play that old piano like that? That was _beautiful_.” She looked to be in danger of adopting Isak on the spot, from the way she was beaming at him.

She suddenly glanced at Even, as if just remembering he was still there. “How do you two know each other?”

“He works at the SAYO camp for the music lessons,” Even said, thinking that it was more or less the truth even if he wasn’t an official instructor. “Teaches them piano. And…he’s been teaching me, a little bit,” Even added, smiling at the way Isak suddenly looked very shy.

His mother shot Even a disbelieving look before looking back to Isak. “You got _Even_ to sit down at a piano, for more than thirty seconds? What, did you blackmail him into it?”

Even felt his heart skip a beat. Fuck, he should have seen this coming.

“No?” Isak asked, looking confusedly between Even and his mother. “Actually, Even asked me to teach him.”

His mother raised her eyebrows so high that they were in danger of meeting her hairline. She looked at Even contemplatively, and he could almost _see_ it click in her eyes.

“And…how have the lessons been going?” she asked, her voice light.

Isak blinked. “Even’s been great. Really easy to teach, catches on quickly. He’s a fast learner.”

“ _Is_ he now,” his mother hummed, more or less outright smirking at him now. Even stared flatly back at her, begging her, _needing_ her to not to do this right now.

Isak stared at Even. Then he stared at his mother. “Was…Even not a fan of piano lessons before, or…?”

His mother grinned devilishly, having been given the opening she needed. _Traitor_. “Not a fan?” she laughed. “I think it was something more along the lines of, ‘ _I hate the piano and it’s boring I’m never going to play it ever again in my life, and you can never make me, mom, or so God help me_ —‘”

“Mom, let me help you get the rest of the groceries,” Even said loudly, nearly bounding from his seat on the piano as he crossed the room in a few strides. He could feel the heat of the blood rushing to his face. His mother looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh, but she nodded and allowed Even to lead her to the door, past a very bewildered looking Isak.

To her credit though, she didn’t say anything as they grabbed the rest of the bags from the car. They worked in silence as Even tried to calm his thundering heartbeat in an effort to reduce the heat he could still feel on his face.

Eventually though, when they were walking back to the door, his mother spoke again:

“He’s handsome.”

Even cleared his throat. “He is.”

“ _And_ he plays the piano.”

“He does.”

“I like him.”

Even tried to fight the smile threatening to take over. “Me, too.”

He could feel his mother smiling at him knowingly from his peripheral vision, but he decided not to meet her gaze, not needing another reason to start blushing all over again.

♬

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blissful blur. Isak returned to the piano to play a few other songs while Even’s mother tried not to burst into tears. And when Even’s mother claimed she still couldn’t believe that Even had played the piano with Isak, Isak had dragged Even back over to the seat to perform an interesting rendition of _Heart and Soul_ (Isak somehow managed to make Even’s clumsy and stilted side of the duet actually sound _good_ because he improvised a few different notes every time Even stumbled or forgot a note), and this left Even’s mother so impressed that she left to the kitchen and returned with a batch of cookies. She then proceeded to ask Isak to stay for dinner, which he’d shyly accepted, and shooed them away with a pointed look in Even’s direction when they offered to help her with it. It was then that decided to forgive her for embarrassing him earlier.

Eventually they ended up in Even’s room. Even was digging through his backpack—it _had_ to be in here somewhere—when he heard Isak make a surprised sound from the other side of his room.

“I didn’t know you drew,” Isak said. Even turned to find Isak smiling up at the wall beside his bed, where he’d had a mismatched collage of random comic strips and drawings up, most of them his own.

“It’s more of a side thing,” Even said, opening the side zipper on his backpack and—there it was.

Isak hummed, leaning in to read a few of them. “These are great,” he laughed. “Funny, too.”

“Thanks,” Even beamed, walking back over to Isak. When Isak turned to look at him, Even held out the joint. “You down for it?” Isak had mentioned getting high during one of their conversations over the weeks so Even knew he smoked, but all the same he wasn’t sure how often he did.

Isak smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Always,” he said, chuckling. Even gestured to his window sill and Isak took a step forward before coming to a halt. “Wait. Don’t you think your mom will notice if we come back downstairs smelling like weed?”

“Good point,” Even said, thinking for a moment. “It’s fine, I’ll just tell her we’ll eat in here.”

“I don’t want her disliking me already,” Isak chuckled as he moved towards the window.

In the back of his mind, Even thought that Isak could probably be a mass murderer and his mother would still love him from the way she’d been gushing over him earlier. Not that Even could blame her. He probably would, too.

♬

“Okay, okay, okay,” Even said, holding the joint back out to Isak. “But would you say the directing or the music is more important in a film?”

Isak smirked as he pulled the joint to his lips. “You know my answer.”

Even placed a hand on his heart. “Ouch. Music, really? That’s a little harsh.”

Isak winked. “Just kidding. But really, I don’t think either one is more important than the other. I think you need both to make a good movie. You could say the editing is just as important, too.” He paused, holding the joint back out to Even. “It just sucks that there are a lot of shitty films out there with, like,” —he waved his hands for emphasis— “five star soundtracks.”

“Are you still talking about— _The Great Gatsby_ was good!”

“You’re just saying that because you’re a Baz Luhrmann fan!”

“No, no, it’s because I understand why he did everything the way he did! Like, the juxtaposition and the reasoning…if you understand why he chose to do it the way he did, though he knew that the modernist medium wouldn’t sit well with everyone else and he just said, you know, fuck it, this is how I think I should make it and he did it anyway—you’d just _have_ to be a fan. It’s—he’s genius.” He sat back to take a drag and caught Isak smiling at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Isak shrugged, smile still in place. He glanced out the window for a moment, expression thoughtful. His eyes flickered back to Even’s. “I just hope I’ll get to see one of your movies someday.”

Even through the relaxed haze from the weed seeping through his mind, Eve felt his stomach fill with nerves and excitement. “Only if you compose for it,” he said, hearing the way his voice grew vulnerable. “Will you?” The question was whimsical and one of a pipe dream, yet somehow Even felt like asking was taking a huge step.

Isak’s fingers brushed against his as he took the joint from Even, and their eyes met. His fingers lingered before pulling away.

“Yeah,” Isak said. His voice was soft, too. “Of course.”

“It’d be one hell of a film,” Even noted after a moment. “Your music and my directing? We’d be unstoppable.”

“I like the idea of that,” Isak smiled. He passed the joint back and they sat for a moment in silence, lost in the haze of their own thoughts for a bit. And Even _wanted_ this, the comfort of the lazy conversations of far-fetched dreams and film philosophy, the warmth of the side of Isak’s legs against his propped up on the windowsill, the way Isak made his mom nearly tearful with joy every time he played a note—Even wanted this for good. He wanted to spend his afternoons with Isak over at his house and them goofing off on the piano or waxing poetic about music and film, he wanted to—

“You know when I first played for you that day?” Isak asked abruptly. He was looking out of the window with the strangest expression on his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Isak’s voice was soft. “That was the first time I’d played for anyone since I was sixteen.”

Even stilled in the action of putting out the joint. “You hadn’t played in front of anyone since you were sixteen?”

Isak’s eyes flickered to meet his to shake his head no before flitting away again.

Even didn’t know what to say to this. A stretch of silence fell between them again. He had a million questions he wanted to ask—why hadn’t Isak played for anyone else? Did it have to do with the piano he no longer had at home? And why did he grant the honor of playing for Even, of all people?

But what Even eventually settled for was, “I’m really glad you played for me, though.”

Isak’s smile was warm when he met Even’s eyes again. “Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact in case anyone was interested - the piano at Even's house was inspired by [this real life piano here](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/be/b1/c3/beb1c308c9203a4e115476bcd05b0f99.jpg) !
> 
> And [here's a link to Heart and Soul!](https://soundcloud.com/josephmarcelo/heart-and-soul-piano-solo-duet-v1) It's the most basic version I could find, lol - closest to the version I first learned when I learned, anyway. The higher melody you can hear is what Isak teaches Even.  
>   
> 


	5. ♫ Week 5 ♫

**♪ MONDAY ♪**

Unfortunately, come Monday, the high (literally) of having spent so much time with Isak had worn off. Having felt so energized Saturday morning with how well Friday night had gone with Isak, Even had thrown himself into editing some raw footage of a film he hadn’t had time to work on in awhile. This, however, ended up being a mistake—all of the footage, the outline, the theme of the film—none of it seemed to click like it had before. Everything seemed wrong now. All of his angles and lighting were off, and even when he’d tried his best to edit, the film wasn’t moving in the direction he’d originally wanted it to. Even the storyline itself seemed flawed and boring. He’d spent all of Saturday and Sunday laboring over it, feeling more and more heavy-hearted with every passing hour.

And by the time Monday had rolled around, his mood was discernably lower. That film was supposed to blow everyone’s mind, and Even felt the disappointment dragging him down even physically. It didn’t help that the weather had been gloomy and dull for the past three days, either. He trudged through his classes, and even the kids seemed to sense that it was better not to goof off that Monday. The only thing he’d looked forward to was seeing Isak—Isak always seemed to brighten his day.

To his credit, he seemed to pick up on Even’s mood right away. He kept the conversation light, not protesting or asking any questions when Even moved down to the piano floor to do work instead of staying to play the piano with Isak. And then while Even worked on his laptop below, Isak played gentler songs, with calm and peaceful tones. He kept his silence for the most part, until an hour or so in.

“Hey,” Even heard, and he looked up to find Isak sitting backwards on the piano bench and facing him, elbows on his knees. Even felt a pang of guilt—he knew he’d been much more quiet than usual, and he knew it wasn’t fair to Isak.

“Hi,” he answered, forcing his facial features into a smile.

Isak raised his eyebrows, examining Even for a moment. After a stretch of silence, he nodded his head to the seat beside him. “C’mere. I want to show you something.”

“Show me something?”

Isak nodded. “Mhm,” he hummed, swiveling back around on the bench.

When Even slid in beside him, Isak was pulling something up on his phone. Even saw the screen when he placed the phone on the music stand—it was the music to something.

“Do I know this song?” Even asked.

Isak sighed, moving forward to rest his fingers on the piano. “Yes. But you have to _promise_ not to laugh.”

“Laugh?” Even asked, puzzled, but Isak had already begun to play. Even felt his brows furrow as he heard the darker opening chords—it felt like [this song](https://youtu.be/sfeFehorGMI?t=15s) was familiar. Isak kept playing, and the more he did the more Even was _sure_ he’d heard this song before. And then his mind was working fast, lining up the melody with the words that went along with them— _Vi har'sje penger men vi eier allting_ —

By the time Isak got to the chorus of _5 Fine Frøkner_ , Even was full-out smiling, for the first time that whole day, and possibly even the weekend. The song didn’t look all that easy to play, either. Even leaned into Isak’s arm just enough so that Isak would feel his gratitude, but not enough so that it would mess up his playing. Isak’s lips quirked up, but he went on playing until the end, at which point Even’s heart was so full he could have burst. It was such a nice feeling compared to the somber one he’d had over the past couple days that he almost wanted to close his eyes and savor the feeling of it.

“Wow,” Even said, grin still in place as Isak turned to give him a wary look when he played the final note. “Does this mean I win? I got you to play Gabrielle!”

“ _No_ ,” Isak said, shifting in his seat. “This was to prove a point.”

“What point?”

“That everything sounds better on the piano.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that.”

“And…” Isak eyed him. “Maybe, also, to cheer you up a little.”

Even looked at Isak, another emotion filling his heart to the brim now. “Well, it worked,” Even told him sincerely. “So, thank you. Really.”

Isak examined him for a moment. “What was it that had you down?”

Even hesitated, not exactly knowing how to put how he felt into words. “Have you ever started to compose a song, and—it’s like, you know it’s going to be good? And then you actually write it and you get stuck and it’s nowhere near as good as you’d hoped?” Even sighed. “That’s what happened to me, but with a film. It wasn’t going the way I was hoping for it to, and…I don’t know, I had a lot of high hopes for it. I know it sounds silly now.”

“It doesn’t,” Isak supplied, voice quiet. “I know what you mean.” He frowned for a moment, seeming to be deep in thought, before turning his torso to face Even a little more. “What you need maybe, is like—a key change.”

“A key change?”

Isak nodded. “A key change can change a piece of music in—a hundred different ways, you know? Or like, a tempo change. If the song isn’t working for you, change the foundation of it.”

“Change the foundation of my film?” Even said, a little alarmed. “But that’s like—starting over.”

“Maybe not necessarily the foundation,” Isak reiterated. “Maybe just change how you get to your goal.”

Even was quiet, processing.

“Just something to think about,” Isak eventually said after a moment when Even didn’t answer. “Don’t be afraid to change the script if it’s not going the way you want it to. You don’t have to start over from scratch but…just put everything you’ve got on the table. Scrap what you should scrap, and keep what you should keep, and start over with what’s left. You know you’re the director, don’t be afraid to take charge.”

 

**♪ TUESDAY ♪**

The next day, Even was leaning against one of the outdoor tables by the playground in the shade, absentmindedly alternating between texting Isak on his phone and monitoring the kids as they played on the field, when Jonas approached him.

“Hey, man,” he said, coming to stand beside him. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Even smiled, sliding his phone into his pocket. “You?”

“I just came to talk to you about the showcase we’re putting on for the parents,” Jonas said. “I talked to Isak and he mentioned the whole thing about getting the kids to compose in my class for the films they’re making in your class, if they wanted.” Jonas grinned. “And I’m down for it, man.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jonas’ eyes drifted over to playground. “A lot of kids are just writing these random pieces so it really helps with giving them direction, and stuff. I’m just not making it mandatory because a lot of them have started, but I talked to them yesterday about it and it sounded like a lot of them are interested. I even told them it doesn’t have to last the whole length of their movies so as long as they have something, if that’s okay with you.”

“That sounds great!” Even said, feeling relief flood through his system. “Then we don’t have to present the works at the showcase alone.”

“Exactly,” Jonas grinned. “Less pressure on us. It’s a great idea.”

“Well, it’s not really my idea,” Even said. “That was all Isak.”

“Oh,” Jonas said, eyeing him for a moment. An awkward silence fell between them for a moment. “How, uh…” Jonas gave a small chuckle. “Sorry, how do you and Isak know each other again?”

Even hesitated, feeling like he was on dangerous territory all of a sudden. He had no idea if Isak had told Jonas about how they had spent every afternoon together after SAYO over the last three weeks, and he had no idea if it was okay to tell Jonas now.

“I ran into him one of the days after camp,” Even said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. It was safer to go that way, especially since Jonas would be seeing Isak in less than an hour for Jonas’ last music class of the day. “And we’ve hung out a few times since then.”

“Oh, okay,” Jonas said slowly, turning back to watch the kids again. He processed this for exactly three seconds before he rounded on Even again. “Wait, shit—are _you_ the guy?!”

“The guy?” Even repeated, bewildered.

“The guy that Isak’s been hanging out with these past couple weeks,” Jonas said, suddenly looking at Even as if he’d never seen him before. “He’s been super shady about it and won’t tell us anything!”

Even didn’t know what to say to that. “Oh. Er—we have been hanging out a lot, I guess?”

The look Jonas gave him was so smug that Even had absolutely no idea what to do with it other than rapidly change the subject. “How long have you known Isak, though?” he asked hastily. “You guys are best friends, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jonas gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve known him since elementary school.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Jonas hummed, still giving Even a look he couldn’t decipher. “You and Isak though, are you two…?”

Even felt something in his stomach drop at the insinuation in Jonas’ voice. “Uh—no, no. We’re just, uh, no.” Despite the fact that he was in the shade, he could feel his face burning all the same.

Jonas nodded, understanding. Even wish he knew what he’d understood. “I was just wondering, because he hasn’t been seeing anyone in a long time. The last guy he broke up with was over a year ago,” Jonas added, cutting a pointed look at Even.

Even stared at Jonas, mouth parted a little in surprise—was Jonas saying what Even thought he was saying? But before Even could ask anything further, Jonas was cursing under his breath, attention focused back on the children again. “ _How_ many times have I told them not to wrestle on top of the monkey bars?” he said, hissed, before shouting, “Oi! Get down from there!” And then he was moving forward into the playground, leaving Even behind and more confused than ever.

 

**♪ WEDNESDAY ♪**

Wednesday found both Isak and Even on the floor of the stage this time. Isak was lying on his stomach across from him, backpack open and flooding out a mess of papers and notebooks and a textbook situated in a muddled an arc in front of him. He’d been trying to do some last-minute studying for a quiz he had in his night class for the past two hours, although he seemed to have lost his drive a while ago. The last thirty minutes he’d done far more doodling at the edge of his notebook and distracted staring into Even’s laptop than actual studying in itself.

Even raised an eyebrow after he caught Isak watching him edit for the fifth or sixth time. “Done studying?” he asked, amused.

Isak rolled his eyes and groaned, collapsing sideways onto his textbook. “No, I still have to redo three more problems. But fuck, I can’t concentrate anymore.”

Even hummed, his eyes drifting over the mess of homework and notes and worksheets before they landed on a heap of papers that weren’t Physics related. It was Isak’s handwritten sheet music. The title at the top of the first one Even picked up read _Yellow Curtains_ , and Even vaguely remembered this being one of the ones that had grown on him until it was one of his favorites.

He focused back onto the actual music written onto the paper—while his stock of musical knowledge was still very much in its infancy, there were a few things he could recognize here and there now that Isak had taught him a few things. Treble clef, bass clef. A dotted note, although he couldn’t remember exactly what that meant. Crescendo, decrescendo. The little squiggle of lightning symbol that meant a beat of rest.

“So,” he said. “What do the little hashtags next to the notes mean?”

Isak lifted his head, looking like he was trying to hold back a laugh. “Those are sharps.”

“Sharps,” Even repeated to himself. “And the little b’s?”

Isak looked confused for half a second before chuckling. “…Those would be flats.” He nodded at the piano a few feet away. “Sharps and flats make up the black keys of the piano.”

“What are the white keys, then?”

“Naturals.”

“What are naturals?”

“The normal notes,” Isak said, laughing.

Even stared at him in awe, and then shook his head. There seemed to be _so_ much that went into just the notes of a song alone, Even couldn’t wrap his mind around how on earth Isak made compositions out of it. “I don’t know how you do it,” he told Isak. “Improvise songs just like that.”

“Nah,” Isak shrugged. “Improvising isn’t actually that hard. If you know your theory and your scales, it’s actually pretty easy. The hard part when you compose I guess, is trying to actually tell a story, you know? So that you’re not just playing random shit that sounds nice.”

Even nodded. That made sense. Often, he could envision specific scenes or angles for a film, but the plot was always much harder to construct.

Even shuffled around some of the other sheet music, until one title caught his eye. “Crisis,” he read aloud, wondering why it rang something in his memory.

“That was the first song I played for you, remember?” Isak said, propping himself back onto his elbows.

“The intense one?” Even asked, remembering. The song which still didn’t fail to blow Even away.

“Yeah,” Isak said, huffing a laugh. “The intense one.”

“What did you write it about?”

Isak shifted on his elbows, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. Even felt the atmosphere between then shift, and he froze—had he asked something he shouldn’t have?

“My mom, I guess,” Isak eventually said.

“So…” Even watched him carefully for any sign that he should backpedal. “You wrote that about your mom?”

“No!” Isak said immediately, shaking his head. “No, wait. That came out wrong. I guess it’s not _about_ her. It’s more like…my mom’s schizophrenic. And she’d used to always tell me that the hardest part of her illness wasn’t the illness itself, but feeling like she was alone. Like no one understood how she felt when it got bad. And I…” Isak shrugged, gesturing at the music. “When I wrote this, I was trying to imagine what she felt, when it got bad. At least, drawing from what she’d told me already. I guess I was trying to compose something that would let her know that I understood how chaotic it could get, you know? I was just trying to compose something to express how…that I understood that much, at least. How scary and intense it could get. If that even makes sense?” He glanced at Even, finishing with an uneasy laugh. “It sounds stupid out loud.”

“Isak, that’s really cool.”

Isak shook his head, tapping his pencil onto his notebook nervously. “I’m not good with words. It was the only way I could tell her.”

“What did she say?”

Isak winced a little. “I haven’t exactly played it for her yet.

“How come?”

“She’s not at home. Or I guess, our old home. She lives in this residential care facility now. Besides, it wouldn’t matter if she was home, anyway. We don’t have a piano at home anymore. And the song’s kind of intense.”

There it was again—the piano that Isak no longer owned. Even wanted to ask why, but he didn’t want to push Isak for anything more at the moment. Especially from the way he’d acted when Even had asked about it before, and also because of how suddenly Isak looked so incredibly drained and tired. Even had always suspected it, but now he knew for sure that Isak carried more weight on his shoulders than most people his age probably bore. And from the looks of it, he’d been bearing it for a long, long time.

“For what it’s worth,” Even tried as an attempt to lighten the mood, “I think it would mean a lot to your mom if you played that song for her, whenever you’re both ready. I think it’d make her feel much less alone. And even if not that, she’d feel loved. To know that you wrote that to try to tell her that you understood.”

Isak looked up. “Yeah?”

“Definitely. I’m…bipolar,” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. He carefully watched Isak’s expression for any red flags, but the only thing he noticed was a slight nod of the head, so Even took that as a green light to go on. “And I think one of the hardest parts of having it is feeling lonely, too.”

Even looked at Isak, and he wondered what was going through his mind right now. “And what you’re doing for your mom…you’re _trying_ to understand. Maybe you can’t know exactly what she’s going through or feel what she feels, but you’re trying to understand, and that makes all the difference.” He smiled, musing. “It’d have been nice to have someone like you back when I was in high school, writing songs for me and stuff. I would have felt much less alone.”

Isak raised his eyebrows “Are you asking me to write you a song?”

Even put a hand over his heart in mock emotion. “Are you _offering_ to write me a song, Isak? I’m so honored.”

Isak rolled his eyes, looking embarrassed. He mumbled something incoherent to his textbook and shrugged. “I mean, if you want. Yeah. Sure.”

Even grinned, leaning forward. “Wait—seriously? What kind of song do I get?”

Isak contemplated him for a moment. “What kind of song do you _want_?”

Even paused. His first, impulsive thought had been to say something like _write me a love song_ , but not only was decidedly _not_ appropriate given the vague boundaries of their friendship, it also didn’t feel right to just _ask_ someone for a love song. The best love songs were ones that were given from the heart, without being asked.

Finally, Even settled on, “Write me something that’ll make me cry.”

“You want me to write you a song that would make you _cry_?”

Even nodded. “Yes.”

“Why would you want that?!”

“I thought we were done judging me for my musical tastes?”

“I should have seen this coming,” Isak said, rolling his eyes. “You and your pretentious obsession with tragedies.”

“Pretentious? Excuse me, they’re _masterpieces_.”

“Okay, but you said the same thing about Gabrielle. I’ve stopped taking you seriously after then.”

“See, what’s pretentious is that you and your Mozart-brain think you’re too good for the wonders of Gabrielle.”

They bantered back and forth for a while, and once they had fallen into silence again, Isak turned to Even.

“So you really want a song sad enough to make you cry? Shit.” Isak shook his head. “That’ll be depressing to compose.”

“Wait, I didn’t say I wanted a _sad_ song. I just said one to make me cry. Or…feel. A lot.” As if Even didn’t do that enough.

“How am I supposed to make you cry if the song isn’t sad?”

“Happy songs can make you cry, too.”

“But if it makes you cry, how can it be happy?”

“You know, like— _tears of joy_ , and all that.”

Isak shook his head in amazement at Even. “I don’t think I’ve ever cried to a happy song before.”

Even grinned. “Me neither. You’ve got your work cut out for you. Don’t worry,” he added quickly when he saw Isak’s stricken face. “If the one you compose doesn’t work out, you can just write me a hundred more. I’ll wait, I’ve got time.” He winked.

Isak laughed, the booming kind that echoed through the auditorium that made Even grin at him like a love-struck fool. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”


	6. ♫ Week 6 ♫

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Just a note for this chapter: there's a certain song played in this one and you'll know it when you get to it, but it's also linked within the text when it comes up. If you can, I really recommend listening to it either during or after the chapter if possible - I think it'll really help get the feel of the scene!

**♪ MONDAY ♪**

Even was whistling off-tune to an original of Isak’s as he cleaned up the classroom for the day, feeling much better than he had last week. It had been a good past couple of days for him. The kids that had chosen to compose music in Jonas’ class for their films in Even’s class seemed to be given a rejuvenated energy to work with, and it was so infectious that it seemed to seep into Even as well. As for his own film, Even had taken Isak’s advice and scrapped a lot of what he had edited, trying to work it from a new angle. It was disheartening at first, to trash hours upon hours worth of hard work, but once he actually began to start over, it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. Taking that first step had been the hardest part. Then there was Isak himself—Even still hadn’t worked up the right way to ask him out yet, but Isak had just willingly spent his second Friday evening over at Even’s, to the delight of Even (and his mother).  

All in all, things were good.

Even was just thinking that the last five weeks had really been the happiest he’d been in over a year when Sonja poked her head into the door.

“Hey,” she said, giving his room a quick once-over before looking back up. “Are you done for the day?”

“Yeah I am, what’s up?”

“Carina can’t find her jacket, and her mother’s here to pick her up for an appointment. I’ll check the cafeteria and the other classrooms for it, but do you mind running over and checking the auditorium? It’s the farthest away, and their appointment is soon so they can’t be late.”

“Sure,” Even said, standing back up. “What color is it?”

“Purple,” Sonja said, shooting him a grateful look. “And thank you—call me if you find it.”

Even headed off in the direction of the auditorium. Normally he would have been excited about an actual excuse to sneak in and see Isak working with the kids. But last Friday Isak had mentioned that Jonas was planning on taking the kids to the computer lab for the week to get their music onto the recording software, meaning that no one would be in the auditorium today.

Which was exactly why Even felt his heart jump into his throat in shock when Isak walked onto the stage.

He had just been about to leave—Even had just finished squinting at all the rows of seating in the dark of the auditorium and the jacket wasn’t there—when he heard a sound and looked up to see Isak stroll towards the piano bench and take a seat. He didn't have his usual backpack. All he had in his hand were a few sheets of paper, which he placed on the music stand. He was also alone, which was strange in itself because this was usually the time during which he helped Jonas out with his class.

Isak lifted his hands to the keys and Even felt a sense panic rise within him, quickly looking around him for an exit that he could use that wouldn’t cause any sort of disturbance. But the only doors that were available were the large auditorium doors on all the sides that would without a doubt capture Isak’s attention. Even wanted to groan. He’d _promised_ himself he wouldn’t do this again, lurking on Isak in the dark. It felt more wrong now than ever, especially now that he and Isak were actually seeing one another every day. Maybe he should just call out to him—

And then Isak began to play, and Even lost his train of thought.

He had never heard this song before.

It was _beautiful_ , and much more slower and simpler than Isak’s usual stuff. The kind soft stuff his mother listened to on rainy days, the kind of music Even actually stopped to listen to if he was walking by. The kind of music that made him want to close his eyes and simply feel. The kind of song one wrote for their lover.

The music swelled, and Even felt his breath catch, and then—

And then Isak stopped.

Even blinked, thrown off. Why’d Isak stop? No, no, Even wanted to hear more of the song. He needed to. Why didn't he finish it? He gazed at Isak beseechingly from the darkness of the auditorium, as if Isak would be able to sense his desperation from over fifty feet away. But, _no_ —Isak was standing again, glancing at something on his phone, before gathering his papers from the stand and hurriedly walking offstage.

And like the very first time he’d heard Isak play, Even was left to stand in the darkness once again, reeling.

 

**♪ TUESDAY ♪**

He was lying awake in bed for the second night in a row when he came to his final decision. He _had_ to get Isak to play the song for him.

Ever since he’d accidentally heard Isak play the song that he had yesterday afternoon, a kind of overwhelming need had risen up inside him to hear the song in its entirety. He didn’t even know why—but he couldn’t get the rise and fall of the beginning notes out of his head. The melody simply looped over and over in his mind until it actually began to drive him a little crazy. It wasn’t like he hadn’t songs stuck in his head before. But somehow, this felt different. Maybe it was because he hadn’t heard the ending yet and the song was left unfinished in his head, maybe it was just curiosity, and maybe it was just pure madness, but more than anything the feeling was alarming. He’d never craved something in such an intense way before, and he didn’t know what to do with the urge, nor how to explain it.

All he knew was that he wanted—no, _needed_ —to hear the song till the end, and he needed it soon.

He’d tried everything to get Isak to play it without outright asking right out for it, from hinting heavily at it (“ _Play something soft, maybe?”)_ , to the less subtle ( _“What’s something you’ve never played for me?_ ”) to the most blatantly obvious (“ _Off the top of your head, what were the last ten songs you’ve played?”)._

And Isak had obliged, as he always did, if not a little confusedly. But none of them were _the_ song. And Even had no idea how to get Isak to play it, other than admitting he’d heard it in the first place.

There was of course, the option of simply sucking it up and waiting it out till the waterfall-like notes of the song were nothing but a distant memory. The only issue with this, however, was that a part of Even didn’t even _want_ to forget the song—it had been beautiful, and he would give anything to hear it again. And what was more, everything about the entire situation seemed to be the universe waving a big neon flag at him, telling him that _this_ was the sign he’d been waiting for, and that he should take it before it was too late.

They only had eight days left at camp, and the thought made Even’s chest clench painfully. He had no idea what would happen after it ended. Especially given the fact that Isak’s class would then be over, and that the piano would no longer be reserved under SAYO’s name, which meant that he would no longer have the safety net of hanging out with Isak for a higher purpose other than simply enjoying his presence. If Even didn’t do something soon, he might lose his chance—and how could he let that happen, when spending time with Isak had made him happier than he had in ages?

He could still hear Isak’s voice in his head:

_Maybe what you need is a key change._

_Don’t be afraid to change the script if it’s not going the way you want it to._

_Put everything you have on the table, and start over from that._

Even swallowed, mouth dry. Did he really have it in him to lay everything out on the table for Isak?

 

**♪ WEDNESDAY ♪**

“So, I have a confession to make,” Even began, walking up to Isak, who’d been aimlessly playing random tunes on the keys. He could do this. He _could._

Couldn't he?

Isak stopped playing to turn at Even’s voice, already smiling, and Even could practically feel his heart stutter just a little when he saw Isak’s face. He was _so_ fucked. This was going to be so much more difficult than he’d prepared for.

Isak quirked an eyebrow. “A confession?” he asked, playfully narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah…but by the way—” Even held up the coffee he’d bought for Isak alongside Even’s tea as a distraction. He felt a little like he was warring with two versions of himself: one that tried to get this done with and out of the way as fast as possible, and the one who believed that the longer Even could stall this, the better. This morning he’d been leaning towards the former, but now that he was actually standing face-to-face with Isak, the latter seemed much more appealing.

Taking the coffee, Isak took a sip and slid over on the piano bench to make room for Even. Unfortunately, Isak did not let the coffee distract him.

“So, what’s up? Were you…” He quirked an eyebrow. “…lying this whole time about how you can’t play and you’re actually some kind of world class pianist?”

“Not exactly,” Even laughed nervously, feeling his stomach turn in nervousness. “That part was the truth. I’m shit at piano. But, uh…”

Isak didn’t miss a thing. Seemingly catching onto the underlying strain in Even’s voice almost immediately, he slid his right leg over the piano stool so that he was sitting on it with a leg on either side. He shifted his torso so that he was facing Even a little more square-on now, and tilted his head in curiosity. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just…” Even leaned a little against the piano, feeling another uneasy laugh bubble out of him. “It’s just—awkward, I guess.”

“Does it have to do with me?”

“Yeah.”

Isak opened his mouth a little, and then closed it. Eventually he settled on uttering a simple, “Oh.”

“I know,” Even agreed.

An awkward silence fell between them. Even wildly debated the idea of just not telling Isak at all — honestly, how bad could it be? So maybe he’d never hear the song that consumed his every waking thought these past two days again, and maybe he’d never get to hear it till the end. He would just replay the part that he knew from the beginning over and over again till he died.

That was fine. It was okay. Even could live with that. It was a small price to pay for the humiliation that was probably going to follow if he went forward with this original plan.

Isak coughed a little, looking uncomfortable, and Even realized he’d been staring at Isak in silence for far too long.

“Sorry,” he exhaled.

Isak frowned, looking nervous now. “Do you want to tell me later? When you’re more ready?”

“No,” Even heaved a sigh. This was ridiculous. He had to get himself together now, no more dancing around the bush. “I’m as ready right now as I’ll ever be. I guess I’ll just—do you remember that first time I walked in on you playing?”

Isak blinked for a moment, and then nodded with a smile. “Yeah. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Yeah,” Even ran his fingers through his hair. “So, the thing is…that hadn’t been the first time I’d ever heard you play.”

“You’d heard me play before?”

Even nodded, keeping his face neutral.

Isak’s brows furrowed, not following. “Like…what, at a recital or something, when I was younger?”

 _Lay it all on the table,_ Even thought desperately.

He shook his head. “No, not like that. Like, I meant heard you play before that…because I’d kind of been watching you play here for a while before I talked to you.”

“Watching me play?” Isak’s brows were still furrowed, still not following. “How?”

“From back there.” Even turned and pointed off the stage and Isak followed his line of sight towards the vast pitch black of the auditorium. “It was just that first week—I accidentally walked in on you during Jonas’ class. But you never noticed me back there, because the stage lights make everything look dark unless you concentrate long enough to let your eyes adjust.” Even’s face felt unnaturally warm and he knew his face was coloring in shame, but there was nothing he could really do to defend himself. There wasn’t much of a way to talk himself out of this one.

Isak stared out into the dark space, squinting. He turned back to Even, his mouth a little open. Then he turned back to stare back out into the auditorium.

“Like…you just sat there?”

“Yeah.”

“In the dark?”

“…Yeah.”

“By yourself?”

Even tried not to wince. “Yeah.” At this rate, he’d be lucky if Isak even wanted to still _talk_ to him, much less play piano for him again. “It…it sounds a lot worse saying it out loud.”

Isak turned away from looking out into the audience seating and to fully look back at Even. But somehow, Isak didn’t look morbidly creeped out. Instead, he looked more like he was...confused.

“How long had you been watching me play?” Isak finally settled on asking.

“That first week,” Even admitted. And then— _fuck it_ , what else did he have to lose? So as long as he was making a complete fool of himself—

“The thing is, I was in the auditorium to get something and I noticed you helping out with Jonas the first week of the camp and I started coming back to watch you and—I had this huge crush on you, and I wanted to come and talk to you, I swear, but it took me a while before I got myself to do it.” The words tumbled out rapidly, and Even couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere but the lid of his tea afterwards. But then—

“Whoa.”

Even found himself looking up despite himself. He’d expected Isak to find at least some part of this situation a little creepy, as any sane person probably ought to after discovering that they were being spied on from a dark corner for a week, but there wasn’t a hint of anything like that on Isak’s face. In fact, he was actually smiling a little, his expression matching the quality of his soft admission of awe.

“You had a crush on me?” Isak asked. His tone conveyed something along the lines of wonder and disbelief, which Even found absurd. Had this boy honestly never looked in a mirror?

“Of course.” Even slid onto the bench across from him, mirroring the way Isak sat, with his legs on either side. He couldn’t believe that out of that whole rambling mess, _that_ had been what Isak had picked up on. But he wasn’t complaining. The faster they could move away from his terrible spying debacle, the better. “And I’ll have you know,” Even said, building confidence from Isak’s reaction, “You didn’t make it any easier for me. I was all ready to woo off your feet and then I find out that you’re like—” he waved his hand vaguely at the piano beside them, “—some kind of secret teenage Mozart or whatever. It was very intimidating.”

Isak laughed softly and Even beamed at him, feeling yet another rush of thrill and elation at the fact that Isak hadn’t run for the hills yet upon hearing Even’s confession.

It was all on the table now.

He felt incredibly vulnerable and exposed, but Even knew that he was way too gone to keep it a secret for any longer. He wouldn’t have lasted much longer, anyway—even with all the nervousness he felt for Isak, Even was still a very impatient person.

And now Isak knew exactly what Even felt about him. Maybe he didn’t know to what a concerning _degree_ Even felt this about him _—_ but Even had figured that giving Isak a minor heart attack wasn’t in either of their best interests.

Their eyes locked in the natural silence that fell. Even was suddenly very aware of how close Isak actually was to him on this bench; their knees were touching now. He could feel the intensity of Isak’s gaze—and if he didn’t know any better he would have said that he could practically _see_ the sparks in the air between them and—fuck, he was going to kiss Isak. He was going to do it, right now, he couldn’t hold back any longer, all he had to do was lean in just a little and—

And then Isak broke the eye-contact, looking back down at the coffee cup in his hands. The tips of his ears were red.

A quiet sigh escaped Even’s mouth. It was still quiet between them, though thankfully it was wasn’t as awkward. He could tell Isak was still processing all he’d just heart—and Even knew it was a lot. He glanced at the piano and suddenly remembered why he’d put himself through this torture in the first place.

Even decided to break the silence first. “Anyways, the reason I told you all of this is actually kind of selfish. I have a song request.”

Isak looked up again, a smile playing at a corner of his lips. God, Even wanted to kiss those lips _so_ bad. Why had he hesitated in the first place?

“Two days ago,” Even went on, “On Monday, do you remember the song you were playing before I showed up?”

Isak frowned, for a moment, thinking, and then he shook his head. “No? Was it something I’d played before?”

“No, I’d never heard you play it before.”

Isak stared at the piano keys, like they might somehow speak to him and give him the answer. “What did it sound like?”

“It was…really beautiful. Like—I don’t know, I don’t even know how to describe it. But you didn’t play the whole thing. You only played halfway through it, and then you stopped. You, er—were playing it here during Jonas’ last class period.”

He saw the recognition light up Isak’s eyes. “Oh, that one? You’re talking about the one that I—wait.” Isak eyed him, suddenly suspicious. “How did you know I only played halfway through?”

Even’s sheepish guilty expression was apparently answer enough for Isak.

“Oh my god, Even,” Isak laughed, incredulous. “Seriously, again? _Why_? You were already talking to me every day by that point!”

“I was already there before you started playing!” Even exclaimed weakly, but he knew that his pride was way past saving. “I swear, I never did it again once I started actually talking to you. It was an accident,. I was back there to look for something for Sonja, but once you started to play, I don’t know—I panicked. I couldn’t leave without you noticing I was there, and…” He trailed off, shrugging.

Isak rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “I _knew_ I kept hearing weird noises from the audience seating. I knew it. And then—fuck,” Isak gaped at him. “That one day I told you about it, _you_ told me not to worry, that it was just weird noises the AC system made!”

Even started to laugh, unable to help himself now. Isak shook his head at him for a moment before joining in on laughing too. When their laughter had subsided, Even went for it.

“But, Isak…you _have_ to play that song again. The one you only played halfway through.”

There was a strange emotion in Isak's eyes. “Why?”

“I just _really_ need to hear it again.”

“Did you, uh—” Isak coughed, awkwardly shifting in his seat. “Did you like it?”

“Like it? I…” Even shook his head and waved his arms erratically, trying to find the right words. “I’ve been...I can’t get it out of my mind. I don’t even know why. It’s driving me crazy. The reason I went through all this and confessed to you was honestly just so I could get you to play it again.”

He could see Isak swallow. He was still gazing at Even with that intense look in his eyes. “I would have probably played it for you anyway,” he said finally, his voice soft.

“Yeah?”

Isak nodded, pulling his leg over the piano stool to face the piano, and Even did the same. Realizing what Isak was going to do, Even reached for the cup of coffee in Isak’s hand and placed both his and Isak’s cups on the ground beside the piano leg. When Even sat back up, Isak had scooted over on the bench a little more towards the middle, so that he had better access to all the keys. In doing so though, he had also moved closer to Even, who had sitting closer to the middle than he usually did. Isak’s right arm was just barely brushing against Even’s left.

Heart thundering in his chest, Even scooted over just enough so that his left arm and leg were just barely flush with Isak’s. He couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed about it—he’d already laid everything out on the table for Isak, there was nothing to hide anymore. But while Isak hadn’t denied he’d felt the same way, he had necessarily confirmed it, either. Even was still nervous. He could hope, of course, that Isak felt the same. But the truth was that Isak still had the power to push Even away with a single word.

But he didn’t.

Instead Isak leaned into Even, a reassuring pressure, before leaning forward a little and sliding forward on the bench to place his foot on the pedal. Even slid backwards on the bench to give Isak’s elbows some space.

Isak turned his head towards Even. “Ready?”

Even pointed at the music stand, which was empty. “You don’t need the music?”

Isak shrugged. “I know this one by heart.”

“Oh, okay. Whenever you’re ready, then.”

Isak lifted his hands to the keys into a starting position, and Even felt himself hold his breath in anticipation. Isak licked his bottom lip once, took a deep breath, and—

[Isak’s fingers immediately began rippling over the keys with certainty](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6vV67uefeM), starting right away with the soothing rise-and-fall arpeggios that had been playing on repeat in Even’s mind over the past two days. But as he kept playing, Even realized that his memories hadn’t truly done the piece justice—he’d forgotten how beautiful the music actually was. The way it flowed and oscillated and glided, like a dance on air.

For the first time, Even couldn’t find the strength to look at Isak at all while he played.  They were only a little bit into the song, but it was already too much, and could already see he wasn’t going to make it out of this in one piece. Even Isak, who usually chanced at least a couple glances and smiles at Even to gauge his reaction while he played, didn’t look away from the keys now. He kept his eyes down.

The melody swelled, reaching the point where Even had heard Isak had cut off the first time. The point in the song that had eaten at Even as he lay awake at night while he to imagine what the next part would sound like. When the music continued to glide seamlessly past that part, Even actually felt a breath of relief escape his lips as the song began to drift into a newer, gentler melody. One that made Even’s heart swell with emotion, bigger and bigger until it ballooned from his chest to his throat to his arms and his stomach, so much so that it practically _hurt_ , but in a good way.

He couldn’t describe the emotion the music made him feel, nor could he explain why he felt this way. It was way too profound to put it into words. The song was…wistful. It was different from Isak’s usual compositions, which were usually more intricate and complex, but this was simple. Soft. Soothing.

It made Even’s eyes sting. It made Even long for something he couldn’t place, and his mind inexplicably reeled through a collage of split-second shorts as if he was watching a film—of waves crashing into the shore, of blue skies and of lying in the grass in the summer with his mom as she spun fairy tales out of the shapes the clouds made. It made Even think of Isak, of his shy laughs and his loud, booming laughs when he was relaxed, of his dimples when he smiled. It made Even think of the way Isak made him feel whenever he played for Even, of the way he played anything Even asked for when they sat together on that stage, just them and no one else, in their own world, laughing and listening and playing and talking and falling in love—

The music swelled a little more once again before it began to wind down, slowing as the melody floated into a higher, twinkling version of itself as the song began to reach its end. Isak’s head was still bent forward, and he leaned into the keys as he played, moving with the music as he let the melody relax. Even remained as still as humanely possible—he didn’t trust himself to move. He drank in every last note of the song, barely even daring to breathe until Isak played the final chord. It was a twinkling chord, and it reverberated through the resounding silence in the vast auditorium.

Neither of them moved when it was over.

When the last remnants of the chord had faded, Isak let out an unsteady breath and lifted his foot from the pedal, finally turning to Even. Even didn’t think he was capable of speaking at the moment. All he could manage to do was to meet Isak’s eyes.

Isak lifted his hands from the keys, bringing one hand up to the corner of Even’s eye. His thumb wiped at some moisture Even hadn’t realized was there. “Whoa,” Isak mumbled, looking a little sheepish. “Sorry.”

And that was it for Even.

He surged forward, crushing his lips to Isak’s. His hands were moving of their own accord, one to Isak’s hair and one to the side of his neck and sliding down his arm and pulling Isak closer, closer—

And Even dimly realized that he probably needed to slow down, that Isak had frozen in place and that he was coming on too strongly. And that Even  _really_ shouldn’t have been using tongue this early in a kiss, a first kiss at that. He had just been about to pull away and apologize but then, he felt lips moving against his: Isak was kissing him back.

One of his hands was slowly making its way to the back of Even’s neck, the other moving along Even’s thigh and to his waist—and then Isak was carefully sliding his tongue along Even’s lip, and Even was gone.

Isak was kissing him _back_.

Even felt like he had somehow been transported into a dream, and he felt so wonderful with the echoes of the melody of the music still ringing in his ear and Isak’s lips pressed against his—Even wondered why the hell he hadn’t done this earlier.

He had no idea how long they sat there on that bench, feverishly making out. Their position was a little awkward—they had been sitting side by side, so both of them were twisting their torsos way out of proportion to access one another, and at some point Even had the sense to use his legs to push the bench back a little. The sound of the wood scraping across the stage floor echoed immensely in the vast auditorium, but neither of them even seemed to process it. Even instinctively tugged at one of Isak’s legs and for a brief second, he had the stray thought once again that they might be taking this too fast, and that theoretically anyone could walk into this auditorium at any given time, but then Isak seemed to get the hint and he pulled himself onto Even’s lap and kissed him with such vigor that Even couldn’t even finish the thought.

When Isak pulled away for a moment to catch his breath, Even mindlessly leaned in and started trailing feather-light kisses down Isak’s neck. A giddy, breathless laugh bubbled out of Isak's mouth and it was when Even kissed a spot under Isak’s ear that sent Isak’s elbow jerking back down onto the keys of the piano, sending a clashing cascade of notes into the air, and they finally startled apart in shock.

They both turned to blink at the piano for a split-second, and then back at each other. And realizing their positions and how wrecked the other looked at the same time, they both immediately burst into laughter.

“Fuck,” Isak laughed breathlessly, shaking his head. “I… _shit_.”

Even shook his head in wonder. “Shit,” he agreed.

They just grinned at each other stupidly for a few seconds. Isak’s cheeks and lips were flushed and Even was _this_ close to attacking Isak all over again before Isak looked down again.

“Sorry,” he blurted, as if just now realizing he was on Even’s lap. He stumbled backwards and stood, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I don’t…uh, sorry.”

“Why are _you_ sorry?” Even chuckled, standing. He felt a little dizzy. “Shouldn’t I be the one apologizing? And I would, but…I’m not really sorry."

“No?” The corners Isak’s lips curled up, though he still looked largely nervous—so Even hesitantly reached for his hand. They both watched, transfixed, as their fingers slowly interwove and slotted together. And just like that, Even was finally holding Isak’s hand. Slipping his own fingers in between the same ones that could create such beautiful music.

“No,” Even confirmed softly, heart still thudding away in his chest. Isak squeezed his hand gently, and Even squeezed back. And then, there it was—that dizzyingly happy feeling rising in him again, like he was filled with air and ready to burst.

“I can’t believe you waited six weeks to tell me,” Isak mumbled, still gazing at their hands.

“I know,” Even sighed, before he realized something. “Wait a second— _you_ didn’t say anything either!”

Isak rolled his eyes, shrugging. “Yeah, I guess that’s true, too,” he admitted, sheepish.

“Besides, I hadn’t been sure if you felt the same way.”

Isak gave him an incredulous look. “Did you really think I spent every single afternoon with you over the last few weeks for the _piano benefits_?”

“You have to admit, it’s possible!”

“I do love playing, Even, but not _that_ much.”

Even snorted. “I’m actually surprised I was able to go through with it. At first I didn’t think I’d have it in me to say anything at all.”

“What made you decide, then?” Isak asked, looking up to meet Even’s eyes. “To tell me in the end?”

“It was the mixture of a lot of things, really. But I guess more than anything I just wanted to hear you play that song again.”

Isak gave him a strangely intense look, and then suddenly he was leaning and kissing Even again, though this kiss was much softer than their previous had been. Even felt his heart fill with even more emotion, if that’d been possible.

“Well,” he said, “I’m really glad you did.”

When they pulled apart though, Isak’s face broke out into a grimace. “I hope you know that I’m going to fail my final on Friday now.”

“What?” Even asked, bewildered. “Why?”

“ _Because_ ,” Isak sighed, lightly punching his shoulder. “I’m not going to be able to think about anything else for the next two days. I don’t know how I’m gonna concentrate on studying.”

Even raised his eyebrows in amusement. “What if…I told you I wasn’t going to kiss you again unless you passed it? Is that incentive enough?”

Isak narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s just unfair.”

“You’re right, I went six weeks without this,” Even laughed, pulling Isak back in. “I’m done waiting.”

He hadn’t realized they were moving during their kiss until Even’s backside bumped into one of the electronic keyboards set up around the back of the stage for the kids. A thought occurred to him, and  Even sighed. “Poor Tanya.”

Isak had been leaning back in after frowning at the keyboard that had interrupted them, but blinked in confusion when he registered Even’s words. “Tanya?”

“Mhm. I’m probably breaking her heart right now.”

His brows knitted. “Who’s Tanya?”

“Tanya from SAYO?”

Isak stared at him, looking bewildered. “Tanya? Tanya from Jonas’ music class?” When Even nodded, Isak looked even more confused. “What, why would she care?”

“You haven’t noticed? She’s got this _huge_ crush on you.”

“ _Tanya_?”

“Yeah!”

Isak gaped at him for a good few seconds before he shook his head. “I think she’s moved on, though. According to Jonas, the word on the street is that she’s got Johan wrapped around her finger.” He snorted. “I heard they got together at the playground last week.”

“What? No way. _Johan_?”

“I know,” Isak shrugged, chuckling. “I didn’t see it coming either.”

“Look at these ten year-olds, better love lives than us.”

“Maybe,” Isak hummed, lifting a hand to touch the hair behind Even’s ear. “But we’re not doing so bad ourselves.”

 

**♪ FRIDAY ♪**

Even had only truly been in love once before. And that had been a long relationship, messy at the end. As a result, when it came to experience in relationships he only had what he had gained from that. But even then, he was pretty sure he was in love with Isak—or at least something very, very close to it.

The illogicality of the situation didn’t escape him. Although he had known Isak for six weeks now, this new side of their relationship was only a few days old, and he knew that no person should ever fall so easily. But that was difficult to do when the person of interest was someone like _Isak_. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever felt this comfortable with someone before.

Especially in situations like he was in right now: Isak was passed out on his bed beside him, having accidentally fallen asleep a half hour ago. Even had let him do so (encouraged it, even, by furtively drawing the curtains and turning the volume down on the movie that was playing when he began nodding off). He had had his final exam today for the Physics class he’d been taking, and Even knew he was exhausted. Even himself had managed to remain awake until the movie finished playing, but now…he yawned. A nap with Isak sounded pretty good.

He leaned over and pulled Isak’s backpack from the foot of the bed to put it on the floor to give himself some room. But what he hadn’t realized was that the backpack was open, and when he tugged at the bottom of it, multiple papers and notebooks came tumbling out and to the floor. He winced, quickly glancing at Isak to see if he’d woken up from the ruckus, but he was still knocked out.

Even quietly shifted to the floor and began picking up the items. He recognized a Physics lab notebook, a few quizzes and homeworks, a few random pieces of sheet music. He put the schoolwork into the backpack first, before finally reaching for the worn out sheets of music and fondly gazing over Isak’s messy handwriting and scribbles. No matter how many times he looked at Isak’s compositions, and no matter how little sense they made to him, he could never get enough of examining them. It was like seeing a piece of Isak’s mind on paper. It was fascinating.

Two sheets of paper in particular caught his eye. Whereas most of Isak’s music was written on what seemed to be available to him at the time—wrinkled notebook paper, graphing paper with a network of creases across them—this was written on a completely blank sheet of paper. The folds across it were neater, and so was the actual music on it. There were less scratch-outs for this piece in comparison to the scribble-filled complexity the others were, and it was written with a much surer hand. And where the other pieces had been written in multiple colored pens and pencils, this piece seemed to have been written in the same pen. Like it was written in one or two consecutive sittings.

His lessons with Isak hadn’t taught him much about music theory in itself, but he knew enough to see the rhythmic, steady note patterns. This was far different from the slightly more chaotic way his _Crisis_ piece had been written. He briefly wondered if this was the new, slower song Isak had played for him last Tuesday—the song that had flipped his life upside down. Even flipped the sheet over to the front, where something caught his eye. He felt his heart expand painfully in his chest, and suddenly, there was a lump in his throat.

Written at the top of the sheet, in a gentler handwriting, was the title of the song. Just two words.

_For Even._

 

♬

When Even had finally composed himself enough to climb back into bed, he immediately reached for Isak and mindlessly pulled him in, overwhelmed with the sheer emotion he felt. He pressed a kiss to Isak’s cheek, his nose, his forehead, his lips—until Isak scrunched his face and huffed out a sleepy laugh.

“Hi,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. An arm curled around Even’s waist. “What's this for?”

Even pressed two more kisses to Isak’s cheek, his lips. “It's thank you.”

Isak hummed sleepily in question. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “Thank you…for what?” But his breaths evened out not even three seconds after having spoken, already having fallen asleep again.

 _For everything_ , Even wanted to tell him.


	7. ♫ Week 7 ♫

**♪ TUESDAY ♪**

“Hey,” Even asked, turning his head to look at Isak. “Can I ask you something?” They were both lying on the floor of the stage today, completely stuffed from the now empty box of pizza between them. The SAYO kids had had a surprise pizza party today at lunch, and Even had managed to snag a box of leftover pizza for the two of them.

Isak turned his head to look at him. “Yeah, sure.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Okay?” Isak looked confused, but he still nodded for Even to go on.

Even propped himself up on his elbow. “Can I ask what happened to the piano you had at home?”

Isak’s face registered surprise. He didn't say anything for a moment.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Even reminded him, when he was quiet.

“No, it’s fine,” Isak said, sighing. He pulled himself up until he was sitting, and when he turned to look at Even, and there was the saddest smile on his face. It made Even’s heart clench. “There’s actually not much to it. I sold it because I needed the money.”

“Oh,” Even said, speechless. “That’s—I’m sorry.”

Isak shrugged. “It’s okay. I told you how my mom was moved to a care facility, right?” Even nodded. “Before she left, things were…really bad at home. My dad had already been gone for a while by the time she left. And after that it was just me alone at home and I…I don’t know, I couldn’t stand it, being there alone. I had to move out. But I didn’t have that much money on me, and I could have asked my dad I guess, but I didn’t really want to talk to him at the time. And I never really played all that much after my mom left, anyway.” His hands were fiddling with the worn threads at the cuff of his sweater. “She always loved it when I played, you know. And she was always there for every recital and competition. Like, my number one fan. It felt pointless to keep playing when she wasn’t there to hear it. So when I needed the money, I just sold it. I wasn’t playing it as it was, and I wasn't going to be living there much longer.”

“But you didn’t,” Even said. “You didn’t stop playing completely, right?”

“I wanted to,” Isak sighed. “I didn't touch one for a year. But a little after that I started coming up with _Crisis_. And I needed a piano to get it down, so I started sneaking into music shops around town,” he said, running a hand over his snapback self-consciously. “They never really kicked me out so I’d go in and play on the store pianos a lot. And then when I started university I messed around on this one too,” —he waved at the grand behind them— “right up until they starting making you pay to use it. I never actually played for anyone since my mom left, though." He looked up to meet Even's eyes, his gaze soft. "But then I met you." 

Even shook his head in wonder. “I still don’t know why you let yourself played for me,” he said. “I didn’t really do anything to deserve it. You didn’t even know me at the time.”

Isak gave him a half-smile. “I guess that was a part of it. It was a fresh slate, and you were really easy to talk to.” Then with a small smirk, “And, it probably helped that you were really fucking hot, so…”

Even laughed, and pushing the pizza box aside, he slid over to kiss Isak. He was still having trouble getting over the amazement that this was something that he was allowed to do now, and he wondered if the excitement of being able to kiss Isak would ever go away. It certainly didn’t feel like it ever would.

“Still,” Even sighed when they pulled apart, “I wish I could have helped you, then.”

“You’ve already helped me more than enough,” Isak said, tracing Even’s lip with his thumb. “Trust me. You have no idea how much you’ve helped.”

 

**♪ FRIDAY ♪**

Friday found Even on the stage much earlier than their usual meeting time. The kids had all been let out early since today had been their last day, and Even needed time to hide his present. Isak wasn’t here yet, but would be meeting him soon, so Even took his time to sit on top of the piano bench and simply breathe for a moment.

The last few days had been a complete whirlwind. The showcase was happening tomorrow, which meant that all the instructors had been working harder than ever to get the kids to finish their projects in each class. For Even, it had meant last-minute editing questions, software failures, trying to help ten year-olds fit unfinished music into unfinished films, dealing with impatient children while they waited for things to render, trying to be in multiple places at once, and an especially harrowing moment when a student found that all her editing progress had been erased (they ended up finding the footage eventually—she had logged into the wrong account).

And then there was what he had with Isak, which was a _whole_ other whirlwind of emotions in itself—although the good kind. If Even had had any doubts on whether they were going to find the transition from a friendship to a relationship awkward, they were all gone now. Everything about what he’d had with Isak came like second-nature. If it wasn’t for the feeling of giddiness that he still got whenever Isak kissed him, Even would have thought that he and Isak had been together for ages.

Before long, Even heard sounds drifting in from backstage. He stood, preparing to give Isak his present, before he realized that he was hearing the sound of _multiple_ voices—along with the sound of a scuffle, over which he could distinctly recognize as Isak’s voice in a heated whisper-argument with a few others.

“ _No_ , you can’t meet him!”

“He’s literally right there!”

“I don’t care—”

“Dude, I can see his arms, right now, I think he’s already seen us.”

“Go home!”

“Why can’t we meet him?!”

“It’s not—”

“Jonas got to meet him!”

“Dude, I _work_ with him.”

“Bro, you’ve been hiding him from us for like three months now!”

“It’s only been seven weeks! And—would you stop fucking _pushing—_ ”

“How long are you gonna keep him from us? Were you planning on introducing us at your wedding?”

“Magnus, _no_ —“

The sounds amplified, and suddenly a tall guy with blonde hair burst onto the stage, quickly followed by two other guys, one of which Even recognized as Jonas. Isak surged in after them a split second later, looking breathless and a little miffed. A brief silence ensued.

“Hi,” Even said, amused.

The blonde guy looked between Even and Isak, grinning. “This is him?”

Isak rolled his eyes and stepped forward to stand beside Even. He gave a noncommittal wave at the boys in front of them. “Even, these are my…friends.” He sounded a bit like he was bring strangled. “Guys, this is Even.”

The blonde guy bounded forward, arm outstretched. “Nice to _finally_ meet you,” he said with a side-eye at Isak. “I’m Magnus.”

“Mahdi,” a grinning guy donning a black snapback waved from behind him.

“Even,” Even laughed, shaking his hand and nodding at Mahdi. “Nice to meet you guys.”

Even glanced at Jonas, who gave him an apologetic shrug. “Hey, man. Sorry, they really wanted to meet you,” he said. “Did you get the kids to finish up everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Even nodded. “I’m actually really excited for tomorrow.” Even glanced beside him to look at Isak, but Isak seemed to be in the middle of a silent argument with Magnus.

“So, how did you guys get together?” Magnus abruptly asked. Even heard Isak groan beside him. “Because, Isak tells us shit, so we have no idea—”

“Okay, okay,” Jonas said, stepping forward to grab Magnus and pull him backwards. “You’ve met him, time to go.”

“But—”

“You can ask him tonight,” Jonas told Magnus, before glancing at Isak. “You’ll bring him?”

Isak nodded, answering Even’s curious look with a sheepish one.

“Okay then, we’re out. See you tonight,” Jonas said, waving.

The boys filed out, Magnus with an enthusiastic wave and Mahdi with a parting smile. As soon as they did, Even turned on Isak. “Tonight?”

Isak winced a little. “Er, yeah. The boys wanted to have a kind of…party tonight, and they really want me to bring you. They’ve been driving me crazy to meet you.” He gave Even a questioning look. “Would you be down?”

“Yeah, of course,” Even said. “You’re okay with me meeting them?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Isak waved a nonchalant hand. “It’s just that if I introduced you they would start asking questions and…they don’t really know about my playing. I mean—Jonas knows, I guess, and Magnus and Mahdi know I _used_ to play, but they don’t know about my compositions and stuff yet. I never told them I started up playing again after my mom left.”

Even looked at him, concerned. “We can say we met some other way if you want. You don’t have to tell them if you’re not ready.”

“I wasn’t ready before,” Isak said. He reached out to interlace his fingers with Even's. “But I am now.” When Even still didn’t look convinced, Isak tugged on Even’s hand to give him an affirming kiss. “I am,” he promised. “Besides, I didn’t want Magnus scaring you away before I got to kiss you. But you’ll come?”

“I’ll come,” Even said. “But only on one condition.”

Isak’s eyebrows rose. “A condition,” he echoed.

“Mhm. You have to come with me tomorrow night to the showcase.”

Isak gave him an exasperated look. “But I _told_ you, I’m not an instructor.”

“Actually, I talked to Jonas and both of us disagree,” Even pointed out. “You've earned enough hours helping him out to deserve it. And if not as that, at least come as my date.”

The corner of Isak’s mouth lifted up. “That _,_ I could be persuaded of. But I don’t think this is the sort of thing you bring a plus one to.”

“I don’t care, I’m bringing one anyway.”

Isak snorted. “Okay, well, that’s that, then.” He slid out his phone to check the time. “Which means, we have exactly…five hours before we’re due at my house for the party. What do you want to do till then?” He gave Even a suggestive smile, raising his eyebrows.

“That depends,” Even said.

"On?"

“Is there any special occasion tonight? Or is it just your everyday party?”

Isak looked highly uncomfortable. “I mean, not _really_. It’s kind of...wait.” He said slowly, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “You know, don’t you?” When Even started laughing, Isak rolled his eyes. “You _do_! Fucking—who told you?!”

“Happy birthday,” Even grinned, pulling a grumbling Isak in for a kiss. “And it was Jonas.”

“I should have known,” Isak muttered.

“I can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me your birthday was today,” Even protested. “We’ve only been together ten days, and you’re already trying to make me fail at the boyfriend job.”

“And that’s _exactly_ why,” Isak said. “I didn’t want you to have to—feel like you had to _get_ me something, or anything…”

“Well, that backfired on you. As payback, I got you _two_ presents.”

Isak dropped his head onto Even’s shoulder and let out a groan. “Isn’t it _my_ birthday?” Even heard him mumble into his shirt. “I feel like I should be able to decide what I get and what I don’t.”

“C’mon,” Even laughed, pulling Isak towards the piano bench.

He pulled the top part of the bench open, revealing the compartment under the cushion that he’d used to hide his present. He pulled it out and handed the wrapped package to a reluctant Isak.

“Open it,” Even encouraged him.

Isak raised an eyebrow at him but did as he was asked. “Okay, okay.” He pulled the bench closed and took a seat on it, and Even sat down beside him.

“I hope you know,” Isak said conversationally as he pulled at the wrapping, “that I plan on getting you _three_ presents for your birthday as retaliation. And…” he fell silent when his fingers touched the treble clef etched onto the cover of the leather-bound book.

“A notebook,” Even offered when Isak looked at him wordlessly. “For your compositions. And,” he added as Isak began thumbing through the pages, “It’s got everything you need—with blank sheet music on every page.”

Isak didn’t speak, but after a few quiet moments Even felt him lean heavily into Even’s side, forehead coming down to press onto Even’s shoulder. “Thank you.” His voice was quiet, but heavy with emotion.

Even coiled an arm around his waist and pulled him closer. “I figured it was time you had a place to keep them all in one place.” He kissed Isak’s hair. “Ready for your next gift?”

Isak made a noise of distress and Even laughed, shaking him a little. “Relax, it’s not that bad, I promise. Besides, this one is more from my mom.”

Isak lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at Even. “Your mom?”

“Yeah.” Even dug into his pocket and fished out a folded up slip of paper, which he handed to Isak.

Isak unfolded it, eyes quickly skimming over the words and brows furrowing in confusion. “What is this?”

“That,” Even said, “is a bill from the piano technician who came and finally tuned our century-old baby grand.”

Isak blinked at him in surprise. “Your mom got your piano tuned?”

“Mhm.” Even nodded at the paper. “For you.”

“What?”

Even laughed at Isak’s alarmed expression. “I think her exact words were, _tell him that the piano is his_. That you’re welcome to come and play it whenever you want. Honestly I think she would have probably given you the key to our house, too,” Even added. “Had she had enough time.”

Isak looked between the bill and Even. “She said the piano’s mine?”

“It’s yours,” Even confirmed, smiling at the dumbstruck expression on Isak’s face. “I think she would have actually given it to you to keep at your place, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she wanted you to actually come over and play for her more.”

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t have fit in my apartment anyway,” Isak laughed. 

"So you'll come and play it?"

Isak gave him a lopsided smile. “I’ll come over as much as you’ll have me.”

“Good. I think she plans on having you stay around for a long time,” Even said softly. _And so do I_ , he wanted to say, but he was pretty sure Isak could tell without him saying it.

Isak reached down and thumbed through the leather-bound notebook Even had given him again. He ran a finger over the bars on one of the pages. “There are so many pages in this thing,” he said in awe. “I don’t know how I’m going to fill it all.”

“You’ll fill it,” Even assured him. “I have no doubt in that.”

Isak hummed in thought. “What kind of music should I fill it with, then?” he mused.

“Well, if you’re ever stuck you could always just write _me_ more songs,” Even said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah?” Isak teased. “Like love songs?”

“I thought I was going to have to beg you.”

Isak laughed, leaning back in to rest his head on Even’s shoulder. “That’s so cheesy, though,” he mumbled after a moment.

“Was that a yes?”

Isak huffed a laugh. Even felt a kiss to his shoulder.

“Yes.”

♬

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Fun fact - both the song Isak wrote for Even and 'Crisis' were originally in this 2007 Taiwanese movie called 'Secret' that I accidentally stumbled upon on Youtube and then got waaay too sucked in with the music. I recommend this movie if you're a piano fan!)
> 
> Thank you so much for your wonderful comments <3 They mean the world to me. I don't know how I managed this out of what was supposed to be a less-than-10k-oneshot, but it's been fun to write! I hope you enjoyed the music as much as I did!

**Author's Note:**

> [Come talk to me on Tumblr!!](https://kapplebougher.tumblr.com/) Help me procrastinate from doing all the other stuff I don't wanna do :D


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